The Difficult Kind
by nowforruin
Summary: When Killian Jones accidentally stumbles into Emma Swan's undercover FBI investigation, first impressions are anything but good. Once the smoke clears, they never expect to see each other again. But with a common enemy and the stakes higher than ever, they quickly discover working together is the only choice. That goes rather poorly too – until it doesn't. CS AU.
1. Chapter 1

New fic! To quote someone else, this one is a bit grittier than you're used to from me. There is questionable morality and some dubious consent, almost all of which is in the first chapter (though the events do come up again later). If that's upsetting to you, maybe skip this one. I wanted to write something different to push myself, and I think I did that. Oddly nervous about posting this, but I hope y'all like it. Giant thanks to oubiliette14 and kliomuse for beta duties. Oubliette14 made me a gorgeous graphic to go with that's posted over on Tumblr (nowforruin there too) if you want to come check it out!

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"Well done, dearie."

Killian sketched a mocking bow, allowing himself just the proper amount of disrespect to keep character without losing life or limb. "I'm a man of my word."

"Indeed." Gold considered him from his spot behind a massive desk, his fingers forming a steeple as if in thought, though Killian knew from experience any thoughts the wretched man had were sinister at best. A long moment of tense silence followed, not a soul in the room daring to so much as breathe too deeply.

Including the frightened-looking girl standing at Gold's elbow in a poor excuse for a dress, the hem barely long enough to cover the essentials. Her name was Emily, and that was all he knew – even the dignity of a last name was denied her. Beyond that, Killian knew what everyone else knew: the girl belonged to Gold.

The taste of bile on his tongue, Killian waited until Gold's lips twisted into what passed for a smile. "Well, as it turns out, I'm a man of my word as well. I did promise it would be worth your while if you came through."

"Your payment was generous, though hard be it for me to refuse your gratitude." He turned up the charm, ignoring the heavy thud of his racing heart. The last thing he wanted was to be standing in front of such a monster, dueling with quips and barbs. He had much larger concerns, but he needed to maintain his access to come and go as he pleased.

Someone's life depended on it.

"Yes, it was, wasn't it? See, this is what I like about you, Charles. Criminals these days, they lack manners. They don't understand a man's word is his currency no matter his station in life. But you, you understand." Gold smiled at him, a reptile in a suit. "Given your excellent execution of your task, allow me to extend my hospitality. Emily is yours for the evening." The girl showed no reaction, her eyes on the floor even as Gold gave her a none too gentle push in Killian's direction, her tangled blonde locks spilling over her shoulder as she nearly lost her balance in her heels.

Killian swallowed, his thoughts scrambling for a response. Of all the things Gold could have offered him, the barely legal girl who was either his prisoner, or his whore, or both, was the last thing he wanted any part of.

"If rumor is to be believed, a man once lost his hand for merely touching her," he finally said, relieved to have found a plausible excuse. "I hate to think what I might lose should you change your mind. I'm rather fond of all my parts, you see."

"You doubt my word?"

"No," Killian replied instantly, sensing the danger of the man's dark question. "Merely establishing the rules of the game."

"Ah." Gold's smirk returned, eyes slithering back toward the girl. "You've never been prone to breaking your toys, Charles. Return her in one piece, and there will be no trouble."

Cursing silently, Killian tried one final angle. "If I may, many a man has made a bargain and delivered. Why offer her to me?"

"Money matters little to you, Mr. Ellis. You don't require my payments, and that makes you unpredictable. I'd be blind and stupid not to see the way you watch the girl. Do you think me either blind or stupid?" The words gleamed with a dangerous edge, sharp and deadly.

"You know I do not." It wasn't a lie. Gold was a lot of things, but he wasn't stupid. If he was, Killian wouldn't be there – and Gold would be rotting in a prison cell where he belonged.

"Take the girl. Enjoy your reward. She'll make it worth your while. And when you want another taste of her, remember who is was that gave her to you in the first place."

"Thank you," Killian forced himself to say, turning his attention to the girl. _Time for a Hail Mary._ "Go get your coat, darling." If he could get her out of this place, he could save her any further degradation – and find out what she knew. "Not that you'll be needing it for long," he added with a leer, conscious of Gold's eyes on him as he raked his gaze over the girl.

Stupidly, he believed it had worked when Emily obediently turned for the doorway into the hall. But he should have known better.

"That won't be necessary. I hate to bother you with having to return her. She'll show you to your accommodations."

"You do think of everything." Killian plastered a grin back on his face, swallowing past his revulsion.

"Yes, dearie, I do. Enjoy your evening." Gold waved them off, Killian's hope leaving with the man's attention. The girl didn't say a word, merely starting for the door once again. Knowing his choices were limited, Killian followed.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, a practiced smirk gracing his lips even as his heart pounded against his rib cage. Fighting the urge to clench his fists in his pockets, he focused on keeping his swagger lazy, his eyes trained on the swaying hips leading him down the hall – all the while frantically trying to think his way out of this corner in spite of having exhausted his limited options.

 _Two years, Killian. Two endless years you've been working this, and you're out of time. The girl has to know something. Gold never lets her far from his side. If you play this right, it could be an opportunity to gain her trust._

 _Or she could hate you. She probably already hates you._

Some mornings, he barely recognized himself in the mirror. Oh, the shaggy hair, the jaw in need of a shave and the blood-shot eyes, that was well-known territory. Five tours and four years working intelligence had established that reality through and through.

But two years of deep cover, that was a nightmare of an entirely different sort. His time overseas had been bad enough, but he'd had his team, then – he had men he respected at his back, brothers in arms.

Now his days were filled with the scum of the earth, a constant churn in his gut as he worked to remember the bigger picture, to swallow the smaller crimes and his own sins. Yet even that wasn't having the effect it once had, his nightmares a constant battle of the war he once fought in uniform and the war he that had become a part of him once he returned.

Until three weeks ago.

Killian didn't have a whole lot of people in his life he'd be quick to call a friend, and no family left to speak of, but he'd known Belle since they were teenagers inches away from living on the street. He joined the military the minute he could, and she read every last scrap of a book she could get her hands on until she gleefully presented him her college acceptance letter – with a full scholarship. He'd left for the Navy the next day, convinced it would be the last time he saw her, but she was too stubborn to give up the friendship. Her enduring optimism got him through some of his darker moments, a fact he wouldn't soon forget.

Which was why he had to do this, why he couldn't refuse to follow this girl down this hall – because somewhere else, in some other hall, Belle's fifteen-year-old daughter was sure to be leading some other man along to a back bedroom.

Or much, much worse.

Swallowing the dark thoughts, Killian stopped mere inches from the girl – his reward – and dragged his eyes down her body like the disgusting criminal he was meant to be. They were still in the hallway where anyone could see them, and he knew as well as anyone how quickly a tiny mistake could cost someone their life. "Well, love, I'm told you have a reward for me. What've you got up your sleeve?" He let the words drip with suggestion, his tongue running obscenely over his bottom lip as his eyes ran along her bare arms. "Or perhaps up your dress?"

He swore he saw a flash of defiance in her eyes, still a bright, determined green despite the life she lived, but the beaten down meekness was back so fast he must have imagined it. This was exactly why he was here – Belle's daughter couldn't end up like this.

"After you," she said softly, gesturing to the room beyond. Bare walls and a mattress on the floor greeted him, and his stomach flipped once more. With one last smirk for any lingering audience, he slid his arm around her waist and tugged her with him into the dingy room.

He released her the moment the door was closed, dropping the smirk and adopting what he hoped was a sheepish grin. "Trust me, darling, I'm well satisfied all on my own. I prefer my women willing." He shoved down a fiery brand of temper scalding the back of his neck at the thought of this girl, and all the men before him who didn't give a damn about _willing_.

"You want willing, you've got willing. Whatever you want, that's what you'll get."

"And if there's nothing I want?" he asked quietly, struggling to walk the line between his cover and the tricky task of earning enough of her trust to get what information he could from her.

She rolled her eyes, tossing her hair over her shoulder and sighing before wrapping her arms around his neck, curves rubbing up against him. "All men want something."

"As I said, I prefer…"

She stopped her movements, drawing back sharply as her eyes narrowed. "Listen, you and I both know that when he said _reward_ he meant for me to fuck you. If I don't fuck you, that causes a problem for me, and since you'll be refusing his offer, a problem for you. So stop acting like we don't know how this ends." Her voice was flat, emotionless, the coy smile and practiced look of desire wiped clean. "Stop acting like you're somehow different than him."

But he _was_ different – his stomach roiled at the very thought of the girl finding him a bit like Gold. But that was the rub – she hadn't met Killian Jones. If she had, it would have all gone down a lot differently. He let his thoughts wander for a moment, the impossible situation weighing on his shoulders like a ton of lead.

He didn't want to do this. She was maybe eighteen, and he'd done a lot of terrible things to keep from blowing his cover, but he never forced a woman. Sure, she was claiming willingness, but this girl was property, and property didn't have free will to choose anything.

For the first time in his life, Killian wasn't certain he could rise to the occasion.

She was pretty enough, could probably be just his type in a pair of jeans and a sweater instead of the painted on mini-dress and sky-high heels that put them on eye level – or more importantly, wearing a genuine smile of welcome instead of hardened determination like armor. Maybe then a simple look of invitation would send desire coursing through his veins, but the picture before him only stirred his temper and desire for vengeance.

When he remained silent, she sighed and turned toward the rickety dresser against one wall, reaching into the top drawer while gesturing to the mattress. "Lay down." Her voice was flat, resigned, and when she turned she was holding a condom and a bottle of lube.

Killian felt his cheeks flame even as his eyes closed in mortification and horror. In that moment, he would have given anything to be anywhere but in that sad excuse for a bedroom – hell, he'd be on the first carrier back to the Middle East given the choice. Anything but sex with a woman – a _girl_ – who knew from the start this was a task to be completed and expected nothing enjoyable from it.

"Charles." His eyes snapped open at the sound of her voice, watching as she balanced one hand on the wall to slip off her heels. The grim determination was replaced with an expression of desire so carefully crafted, he might have been fooled if not for the cold calculation of her assessment of their situation not five minutes earlier.

Without the heels, she only seemed younger, more delicate, and Killian swallowed heavily against the revulsion rising in his throat.

 _She could know something. She's right – Gold will be insulted if you don't go through with this. It's already been three weeks. How will you explain to Belle and Will you let your best chance yet get away because you didn't want to have sex with a prostitute?_

 _Belle would forgive you,_ his mind immediately argued back _. Belle would understand. Even if she is a prostitute, I'd be hard pressed to believe she chose this life for herself._

 _A mother will never understand when it comes to losing her child._

Emily stood in front of him, her delicate hands smoothing over his T-shirt in a practiced caress that did absolutely nothing for him. She looked up once more as her hands travelled south, fingers curling around his belt, wide green eyes that had seen far too much in her short life. She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but in the end only shook her head and pressed closer.

"Relax," she murmured against the shell of his ear, her breath warm as her fingers worked up under his shirt. With her pressed so tightly to him, she couldn't see as he screwed his eyes shut tightly once more, struggling to keep in character, to remember that Killian Jones wasn't in this room with a barely legal girl commanded to reward him – Charles Ellis, notorious drug runner and dirty cop, was. And Charles Ellis wouldn't have an issue with the situation.

Still, he jumped at the damp heat of her tongue on his neck. That only seemed to frustrate her, her brows knitted together as she pulled back. "Do you need to take something? Gold keeps a supply."

"Take something?"

She rolled her eyes again, gesturing toward the bed. "So you can _enjoy_ your reward."

 _Buggering bloody hell._ Killian's face heated all over again, and he fought the urge to close his eyes. Charles Ellis wouldn't be embarrassed – Charles Ellis would be right pissed she would suggest him incapable of performing.

Whether Killian could or not was yet to be determined. And for a flash of a moment, he wondered if perhaps that was how he could get through it. Allow science and chemicals to take over, to force his body to act how it should if he were a drug dealing sociopath with no regard for anyone but himself.

But that would make him too much like these people he was trying to put away – no, if he was going to do this, he was going to be present for every terrible, awkward moment of it. He would never speak of it again, and the memory would be his burden to bear alone. Belle needn't ever know how he got her daughter back, only that he had.

"Perhaps you just need to be more enjoyable," he forced himself to spit back, the mantle of his persona sliding back over his shoulders.

 _Bastard_.

Emily smiled at him, darkness twisting her lips and pooling in her eyes as she reached for the hem of her dress and pulled it off in one quick movement before reaching for his belt with determined fingers. He caught a glimpse of a bruise blossoming across her hip, another on her thigh, and he bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep his mouth shut. She was thin – too thin – her hipbones jutting out sharply, ribs visible through her pale skin. Whatever Gold was feeding her clearly wasn't enough, and Killian wondered for one heartbreaking moment when was the last time she'd seen the sun.

 _Charles Ellis does not give a damn about a few bruises and what Gold feeds or does not feed his girls. You cannot react._

By the time she stripped Killian of his clothes, he was disgusted to find his body had far fewer problems with the naked blonde straddling his lap than his furiously spinning mind. Between deployments and his undercover work, he had precious little time to even consider a meaningful relationship, but he was no saint. He enjoyed women, and he made damn sure they enjoyed their time with him. Sex wasn't how he'd intended to gain Emily's trust – he had been certain she would accept his casual refusal and play along – but perhaps all wasn't lost. Had a single man ever given a damn about her pleasure as they used her body for themselves?

He was going to have to shower in bleach when it was over to ever feel clean again. The rationale felt flimsy even as he thought it, but the crinkle of foil brought him back to the present.

"You know, for a man claiming a reward, you don't seem all that interested." Her voice was cool, her hands efficient as she stroked him. Killian swore under his breath as she moved her thumb, a low pull in his belly beginning to burn in spite of himself. "Oh, that's what you like?" Her voice was a caress in itself, nearly a purr, but something in it was off – just a little too calm and collected for a prisoner. "I was beginning to wonder if maybe you were just gay and didn't want to admit it in front of Gold or your precious crew."

"If I did prefer men, everyone would bloody know it, but I assure you, darling, I prefer women." He ground his teeth as she slid down his thighs, the condom packet momentarily forgotten on the mattress as she lowered her mouth. Her hum of agreement did things to him it had no business doing.

She didn't linger long, spending enough time swirling her tongue and hollowing her cheeks to make his breath short and his heart pound. She released him without warning, reaching for the condom and rolling it on with the same quick movements she'd done everything else.

"Wait." He grabbed her wrist as she reached for the bottle of lube, the wrongness of the entire situation warring against the desire she'd managed to awaken. "Allow me to render that unnecessary," he forced himself to say with all the swagger of Charles Ellis.

"Why bother?" was all she said before uncapping the small bottle. He was too stunned by her chilly reply to answer, words trapped in his throat as she ran her fingers along his length once more, coating the condom in preparation for what came next.

"I suspect no one has bothered before," he finally answered, his hand pressing lightly against her hip to stop her as she rose onto her knees above him. It was a dangerously honest statement, far too much Killian and not enough Charles, and he saw the flicker of curiosity in her eyes before they hardened.

She didn't say a word, ignoring his touch and sinking down in a practiced move that took him fully inside her body. She set a steady rhythm, blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders and her eyes fixed on the wall above his head. By the expression on her face, she could have been watching paint dry, even as her hips moved expertly over his and her palms rested against his bare chest.

What did he expect, what with her downright clinical actions – Killian was nearly certain this was the definition of being _serviced_ – but the longer it went on, the more he couldn't shake the thought that she wasn't even in the room with him.

Is that what happened to the girls who got caught up in this mess? Did they become vacant, soulless bodies to be used and discarded? That it was so very horrid the only way to endure it was to mentally check out, little more than a robot performing their assigned task?

Killian spent far too much time looking down the barrel of a gun to consider himself a romantic, but bloody hell, a woman deserved better.

Perhaps that was what made up his mind – or perhaps it was the stark realization that he was a part of it one way or the other. He wasn't saving her from anything by lying there, attempting to lock his soul up in some bloody compartment of his mind far, far away from that room. No, he was saving _himself_ from the choking shame of being a party to it.

Or perhaps it was the simple point of male pride that Killian Jones had never left a woman disappointed in his bed.

She made a small noise of surprise as he flipped them over, her hair spilling across the pillow as he adjusted the angle of his hips, watching her face for any reaction. Her eyebrows knit in confusion for all of a second before her face transformed back into the illusion of seduction she'd worn so well in front of Gold, almost as if she'd suddenly remembered she was supposed to act like she enjoyed this. "Look who decided to wake up." It was meant to be alluring by the low pitch of her voice, but the glint of jungle green staring up at him was a taunt more than anything.

Her behavior was a puzzle he would have to sort out another time – how was a girl barely eighteen, Gold's favorite whore, at once the meek, beaten down possession Killian expected but also…something else. Something unbreakable and proud, with an intelligence lurking in her gaze that made him want to drag her out of this place.

But for now, he turned his attention to the task at hand. Ignoring her jab, he slowed his pace, determined to give her something out of this.

 _Fancy yourself a saint, do you? You know you're only doing this to get her to trust you, not from some noble attempt at goodness._

Blocking out the conscience he would have to face soon enough, he bent over her, hitching her thigh against his hip. The startled gasp was the first genuine sound she'd made since they walked into the room together. Using the rise and fall of her breaths as a map, Killian traced a path over her skin with his tongue and fingers, keeping the rock of his hips steady against hers.

And for a split second, with her cheeks finally flushed and her eyes closed, her legs tight around him, Killian forgot – forgot he was undercover, forgot the cruel and ruthless role he was playing, forgot that Emily was all of eighteen and had been given over to him as a reward for making charges disappear.

Forgot he would hate himself for it when it was over.

Reaching between them, he picked up speed, his thumb working to bring her along to the finish line with him. Her hand shot out, fingers curling around his wrist and eyes flying open at his touch. She seemed to wage war against herself, her teeth worrying her lip as she stared at him in silent question.

He wanted to ask if she was all right, if she wanted to stop – but that was what Killian wanted. And in that moment, he couldn't be Killian.

He saw the moment she made her decision. Releasing his wrist and nodding her head ever so slightly, she leaned back into the pillow, pushing her hips into his. She held his stare for a long moment, her eyes scanning his features as if he were a great mystery to solve, until a sudden curse and arch of her back snapped her eyes shut tight.

If he closed his eyes, the room could disappear. Instead of hard determination and a bare mattress, he could have Emily in his apartment, in his bed, luxurious cotton sheets against their skin. Her features painted only in the early morning light – completely free of the heavy makeup and weight of being a man's possession. Emily there entirely because she desired it.

But she _wasn't_ there because she desired it.

The thought snapped him back to reality, and whatever physical pleasure he'd felt at her arched back and quiet gasp vanished. Her eyes were still closed, but nothing about her expression hinted at pleasure – she was all grim determination once more.

Almost as if sensing his indecision, she looked up at him with an arched brow, a silent, mocking question on her lips. It was a bucket of ice water dumped over his head, and he stopped moving entirely, staring back down at her.

"Guess you should have taken one of Gold's pills after all."

"Bit hard to maintain a bloody interest when you so obviously don't share it," he ground out, not entirely needing his persona to find the words. She was taunting him again, and while he agreed Charles Ellis would deserve an insult of that caliber, some sense of male pride lingered.

"I'm right here." She smiled sweetly, the curve of her lips a fierce contrast to the daggers in her eyes. She jerked her hips up into his, one of her hands trailing down his chest. "Whenever you're ready."

Her icy barbs did nothing to heat his blood. Perhaps that was the problem – the cold, clinical nature of what was happening between them was never going to get either of them to the finish line. Maybe a more gentle approach would get them further.

"What are you doing?" He realized his lips were half an inch from hers only when the sharp question reached his ears.

"I…" He stilled, balanced above her, their lips inches apart. _Charles Ellis_ , he repeated to himself, narrowing his eyes at her. "I'm taking my reward, darling."

"I think you've had your chance." The redness of her cheeks rose with her sudden temper, her eyes bright green and flashing like a feral alley cat trapped in a corner. "No kissing. Even Gold doesn't subject me to that."

"Love, I only…"

"Tricked yourself into believing I wanted you?" She laughed, a bitter, harsh laugh as she shoved against his chest. Defeated, disgusted, and a little bit humiliated, he rolled off her and stood to clean himself up. She was already using the sheet to wipe her thighs before reaching for her discarded clothes.

Weighing his options, he directed his attention to the scarred and pitted wall, a laughable attempt to give the girl some privacy after what they'd just done. Time was running out for Rose. He would have preferred more time, more confidence Emily would take his offer, but it had to be now. This was the only chance he was going to get to turn her to his side, and he had to play the hand he'd been dealt.

"You could get out of here, you know," he said quietly, tugging his underwear back into place and looking around for his jeans. "I could help you." Scooping up his trousers from the floor, he turned back to her. "Let me help you."

"Oh? How's that? Am I to warm your bed instead of Gold's?" Whatever attempt she had been making to conceal her anger and resentment had been abandoned, her movements jerky as she tugged her bra back into place, arms twisting to fasten the clasp.

"No!" Hastily fastening his belt after buttoning his jeans and checking his gun, Killian left his shirt on the floor to cross the room and lightly grip her biceps, surprisingly solid with muscle despite her thin frame. "If you would allow me to explain, I…"

A deafening bang cut him off mid-sentence, the rattle and pop of gunfire in the outer rooms surrounding them. Instinct and training kicked in, and Killian shoved Emily to the floor, covering her body with his. "Stay down!" he hissed in her ear, reaching for the gun holstered at his hip and clicking off the safety.

The door burst open, and it was all Killian could do not to sag with relief at the uniforms. The shouts of "Boston PD" were interrupted by the familiar stride of his partner, Robin, his expression baffled as he took in the scene before him. "Killian? What are you doing here?"

" _Killian_?" Emily echoed, shoving at him and grabbing at the sheet to cover herself. "What the hell? You're a _cop_?"

"Aye." He rose slowly, gesturing toward the blonde now wrapped in a sheet. "She's not armed." Killian scrubbed his palm over his face, the curious stares of his fellow officers lingering on his bare chest and the girl. He would deal with that later. He had other priorities now.

"Rose?" he asked Robin, his jaw tight as he waited.

"You don't know?"

"It seems I do not."

"That's why we're here, Killian. We got a tip she was here. You were supposed to be…" The radio on Robin's chest squawked to life as if on cue, and Killian's knees nearly buckled in relief at the words – and the terrifying realization that if he had found a way into the basement instead of what he'd done with Emily, he could have located Rose a hell of a lot faster. "We've got her, Detective."

"She's been here this whole time?" Killian swallowed past the tightness in his throat, struggling to collect himself in front of his growing audience.

"We're not sure. What the hell are you doing here, mate?" Robin's glance flickered to Emily and back. "Sergeant said you were finally using your vacation days to help Belle and Will through all this, that you'd claimed you were going out of the country to cover your UC position."

"Aye," was all Killian said in reply, refusing to meet his friend's questioning stare as guilt and shame threatened to swallow him whole. The only reason he had had sex with an eighteen-year-old girl was to find Rose, to save his oldest friend from the horror of losing her child – and she'd been here the whole time.

"You could lose your badge over this."

"I'm aware." Killian sighed, holstering his gun and lifting his shirt from the floor to pull over his head before turning back to Emily. "I'm going to need you to come with us and give your statement."

"Like hell." She tugged the sheet tighter around herself, eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "I'm not going anywhere until I speak with Regina Mills." Her defiance was back full force, the glint of steel he'd seen before straightening her spine. Whoever this girl was, there was nothing meek about her – it had been an act. A damned fine one.

"Your attorney can meet us at the district," he said wearily, wondering how a girl like her had ended up in a place like that. She was obviously intelligent, and at times displayed an element of fearlessness that was bound to get her killed in her current line of work.

He told himself the overwhelming urge to tear her out of a life of prostitution and away from men like Gold was guilt - he'd been doing the job long enough to know he couldn't save them all.

Emily's laughter was brittle against his ears, and it wasn't until her statement registered that he realized what a bloody mess he was in. "Regina Mills is Special Agent in Charge of the Boston FBI Field Office." She held out one hand as if to shake his in introduction, her lips twisted into a smirk. "And I would be Special Agent Emma Swan. You've just fucked up my investigation."

-x-

"Explain to me how it is that the team found you half-naked with an undercover FBI agent in one of Gold's flophouses." David Nolan's voice was dangerously calm, a sharp contrast to the slam of his office door as he crossed the room. He didn't take his customary position in the chair behind his desk, instead looming over it with a black fury Killian couldn't recall ever seeing on the usually sedate man's face.

"At the time, I believed she would be a useful source of information."

"So you slept with a girl you thought was eighteen?"

"She's twenty-eight," Killian mumbled, the quick glimpse of Emma's FBI profile he'd managed to pull up on his phone before David stormed in flashing through his mind. The photo of her that accompanied the file was the worst part, her natural beauty allowed to shine through without the caked on makeup. She was every bit as beautiful as he imagined she might be.

And far more dangerous.

"Oh, and you somehow knew that when you decided it was a good idea to have sex with a girl you thought was a prostitute?"

Killian didn't know what to say. He obviously hadn't known she was twenty-eight at the time – he certainly hadn't known she was an FBI agent who very much was making her own choices, not a helpless teenager. It did nothing to explain why she hadn't taken the out he'd offered her, though. He understood a frightened teenager not wanting to defy Gold, but this woman had put herself in that house, had actively sought out the position at Gold's side.

 _Don't even think of making excuses for yourself. You know bloody well enough you should have found another way. You allowed desperation to get the better of you._

David took a deep breath, finally falling heavily into his chair. "You said you were taking vacation time, Killian. You lied. None of us knew what you were doing. Do you have any idea how stupid that was?"

"Aye, bloody stupid and reckless." Killian leaned back in his chair, studying the small scars littering his hands. "It was Belle's daughter, Dave. What would you have me do?"

"You should have told me."

"You wouldn't have allowed it."

"You're damn right I wouldn't have."

"Am I suspended?"

"You should be."

"Aye, I likely should." Killian paused, cursing himself even as the next words came out of his mouth. "But Emil-Emma, she knows things that could help us take Gold down for good. Rose was just one girl. There are more. A lot bloody more."

David frowned, his gaze falling to his phone's suddenly lit up screen. "You think I don't know that?"

"I make no excuses for my behavior, and I am aware I'll have Internal Affairs to sort out, but we can make some good come out of this. My cover isn't blown, and…"

"Your cover isn't blown? You walked out of Gold's and who knows who saw you! If you wanted to keep your cover, you should have been handcuffed and put in a squad car like the rest of them."

"No one saw…"

"You can't know that for certain. If you think I'm letting you take the chance that someone wasn't watching from a window or rooftop, you are mistaken." David's phone lit up again, and he sighed, gesturing to it. "Regina Mills keeps calling. You might as well stick around for whatever she has to say. My money says it has something to do with you and the mess the FBI claims we've made of their case."

Killian nodded, and David tapped the screen. He barely managed to say _hello_ before a woman's sharp voice came through the speaker.

"Just what in the hell do you people think you're doing?" she demanded. "I've gotten calls from the mayor and the damned Director. Explain how it is that an off-duty detective ended up in the middle of my investigation?"

"Ms. Mills, I assure you…"

"You local cops and your ridiculous sense of entitlement. I don't want to hear one word about jurisdiction. Miss Swan has been working on Gold, gathering information on his various deals, for years. We were weeks away from taking the whole thing down. Do you have any idea how many girls that despicable excuse for a man has trafficked over the last decade?"

"Ms. Mills, I…"

"That's _Special Agent_ Mills. And the answer is hundreds, Sergeant. He has trafficked hundreds, if not thousands of girls. All while staying three steps ahead of us, in spite of a host of other illegal activities. Do you understand the enormity of what your detective has done? I want his badge."

"You can bloody well have it." Seething with self-loathing and guilt, Killian stood, shaking his head at David's incredulous expression. "You want my resignation, Special Agent, it's yours," he spat, ignoring the other man's sharp glare. "But know that I would do it all over again to save Rose Scarlet. That girl is the closest thing to family I've got. So you win this time. But remember this when the day comes where you have to choose between your family or your sodding job, and you have to make that decision in the blink of a bloody eye."

"Killian, wait." David grabbed his arm, stopping him from placing his gun down on the desk beside the badge he'd slammed down while talking. "It's not…"

"Get your man under control, Sergeant."

"Don't tell me how to run my shop. I'll call you back." David ended the call despite her protest, moving around the desk to stand next to Killian with a firm hand clapped on his shoulder. "You quitting doesn't solve anything. Her agent may know a lot, but you've been working this for years, too. You know more about Gold's operation than anyone in this department. I need you."

"Dave, you've been a great friend these last few years. I'm proud to have served under you. But we both know I'm a political bloody nightmare, and you can't go up against the buggering FBI. You're going to need Emma Swan." Killian struggled not to wince as he said her name, guilt and shame shredding him from the inside out. "She won't work with me, and you need what she knows."

"There's something you aren't telling me."

"I'll write up a full report from home and email it to you by end of day tomorrow."

"Sleep on it. Take your badge and your gun. You still want to quit tomorrow, we can talk about it then."

Killian shook his head, forcing himself to meet his friend's gaze head on. "No. This is for the best. Don't worry, mate. Now that I'm unemployed I've all the time in the world for your wife's trivia nights."

Ignoring the wrenching pain of giving up the job he loved even when he despised it, Killian clapped David on the shoulder one last time and walked out.


	2. Chapter 2

Emma winced at the grind of metal, rubbing her sore wrists as the handcuffs fell away. Regina raised an eyebrow, tossing them onto her desk. "You were the one who insisted on them."

Emma's wince turned to a scowl instantly, her fingers clenching at the hem of the oversized FBI jacket she was drowning in. Beneath it, she only had on the same scrap of a dress she'd worn one variety or another of for months. "Unlike that idiot detective, my cover isn't blown. I was picked up as part of the FBI raid and detained."

"That idiot detective you had sex with?" Regina pursed her lips at Emma's annoyed huff, folding her arms and leaning back on the edge of her desk. Emma had given her the quick version in the car, but her boss still wasn't thrilled about any of it. "How did that even happen? Our last check in, I was under the impression you weren't doing that. It's the only reason I didn't pull you out."

"I wasn't." Emma had long since kicked off the heels she'd been dragged out of Gold's in, and she sighed as she put one bare foot up against the wall. It felt good to adopt the casual position, to relax and not concern herself with appearances, despite the unease rippling through her stomach at the mention of the detective. She hadn't showered yet, and she could still smell him on her skin. "I told you, after that first time, when Gold couldn't…" It felt wrong to laugh in the middle of the mess they were in, but Emma found the humor where she could. "He's all about how it looks to everyone else, always has been. He found other ways to humiliate me."

Emma had known Regina a long time – they'd been at Quantico together. Regina had a mind for politics that Emma lacked, and she'd risen through the ranks while Emma went years at a time on deep cover assignments. Their careers had taken different paths, but when Regina took over the Boston field office and requested her for the ACTeam, Emma went, no questions asked. She was good at finding people who didn't want to be found, and there was a sense of purpose in saving trafficking victims that she hadn't found elsewhere.

In all those years, she'd seen some scary things out of the woman. The look on her face at Emma's words ranked at the top of the list.

"I never should have listened to you. I should have followed my instincts and yanked you out of there when he…"

"You know why I stayed." Emma swallowed past the bile thick in her throat, the ache in her wrist a permanent reminder of the beating she'd taken. It had been one of the hardest moments of her career – letting herself be beaten when she could have stopped it.

But that was the problem – _Emma_ could defend herself. Emily couldn't. So she'd curled into herself like the pathetic throwaway girl she was supposed to be as Gold had taken his fury out on her.

At least he'd never tried to have sex with her again. She'd been prepared for that when she'd taken the assignment. She'd asked for the assignment, knowing that was going to be her angle. She could pull off young, and men rarely bothered looking past her pretty face and long blonde hair to see a threat behind the smile. It was just sex, anyway. Whatever romantic notions she may have once held about the act had long since been washed away by the reality of her life.

She had not been prepared for sex with Charles Ellis or Killian Jones or whatever the hell his name was.

"Of course I know why you stayed." Regina unfolded her arms, crossing the office to open a drawer. Pulling out a bundle of fabric, she handed Emma the clothes. "Shower to wake yourself up and change. I don't know how the hell Gold got out of there, but I need a full report. And I need to speak to David Nolan."

Emma nodded, weariness settling over her like a lead blanket. She knew better than to expect anything less than what Regina required of her, but she'd allowed herself to hope for a few precious moments that they could do this in the morning. After all the months at Gold's, she really just wanted to go back to her apartment and enjoy being alone.

At least her boss seemed to be taking her frustrations out on David Nolan, whoever he was, and not Emma. She could hear the sharp accusations flying before she'd even reached the end of the hallway.

The showers in the bowels of the building were depressing and dark, the tile ancient and scarred. But the water was hot, and it was the first shower where Emma could actually relax in almost a year. The sheer relief of it crashed into her just after the water, and there she was, gasping for air and fighting the sheer terror of knowing she would have to go back.

 _Get it together, Swan._

Clean and dressed in pants and long sleeves, Emma finished braiding her damp hair as she walked back down the hall to Regina's office. She found the woman seated behind her desk, an uncapped bottle of scotch beside two coffee mugs.

"Is that the good stuff? Tell me it's the good stuff. I haven't had a decent drink in forever."

Regina smiled, pushing one of the mugs forward. "Coffee for you. You look like you haven't slept in days, and this is going to take as long as it takes. Be nice and I might let you take the rest of the bottle home." She tossed Emma a pack of crackers, the cellophane crinkling as she caught it. "I ordered you one of those disgusting grilled cheeses from the diner down the street you like so much. Should be here in a few minutes, but I had those in my drawer."

"I can't remember the last grilled cheese I ate." Emma shoved one of the crackers in her mouth, her hunger making a sudden reappearance. "Please tell me you got the onion rings, too. It's just not the same."

Regina sighed, the hint of a smile betraying her true mood despite her scowl at the crumbs Emma was getting everywhere. "My office is going to smell like grease for days, but yes, I figured you earned yourself the nasty things."

"Thanks, boss. You're much less terrifying than you like to pretend you are." Emma curled into her chair, tucking her knees against her chest and settling in for a long conversation. At least the coffee was good, Regina's personal stash, not the swill one of the analysts was known for burning into oblivion, and a dinner she actually wanted was on the way. "All right, where should I start?"

By the time Emma stepped out of a dark SUV onto the pavement in front of her apartment, it was after midnight. Her throat ached from talking – between her conversation with the drug dealer detective and Regina, she'd spoken more in one day than she had in six months. Gold preferred her seen and not heard, the sound of his own voice his favorite soundtrack. In spite of the hot liquids, she was still raw.

And the four cups of coffee hadn't done anything to keep the exhaustion at bay, either.

Using the spare key she'd left at the Bureau, Emma let herself back into the apartment, clutching the remains of the scotch as a victory in her palm. She didn't bother flipping on a light, the glow from the streetlamps illuminating the dark shapes of the few pieces of furniture in the place.

It had never really felt like home, but it was a door with a lock, and Emma breathed out as she flipped the deadbolt into place, the satisfying turning of the tumblers echoing around her. Regina must have sent someone to clean the place periodically, open the windows and let in air, because for all the time she'd been gone, there was no fine layer of dust under her fingers, no stale air filling her lungs.

Her hair still damp from her shower earlier when she unbraided it, Emma went straight to the bathroom anyway. Hours of talking about Gold, the details of his operation, the things she'd seen and heard…her skin crawled with it, her blood pounded with rage, and it seemed like she might never be clean again.

It could have been her, and that was the most terrifying part of all – the part she didn't tell Regina, the part that no one knew. The reason she took the risks she did, the drive behind her every move.

Emma could have been Emily.

She wasn't the religious type, but the universe, god, something, had stepped in at just the right moment. She hadn't ended up broken and trapped as someone's possession – but she could have. She had known girls who had, girls who had disappeared one night and turned up in the river or an alley months later. By some miracle, Emma hadn't been one of them – hadn't gotten into drugs, hadn't disappeared into the night.

Like Lily.

For every girl she saved from that fate, she thanked her lucky stars. For them. For herself. For the promise she'd made standing over Lily's grave, a part of her heart buried with the only friend she'd had in those miserable teenage years.

The job had demanded a lot of sacrifices over the years, splinters of herself she shaved off for the sake of the greater good. She accepted that. Yet this assignment had been its own special brand of hell. She would do it all over again – the information she had, that Regina now had, was priceless – but it didn't leave her with the warm and fuzzies.

Gold had gotten to her.

Not the pathetic attempt at sex, not the beating that came after it. He'd reappeared weeks later once she was mostly healed and acted as though the whole thing had never happened. Instructions were given to clean her up, and like a doll, she was dressed and painted. She quickly learned her new role – a pretty ornament at his shoulder. He never tried to have sex with her again, but Emily existed purely to please him.

Leaving her newly reinstated gun on the vanity next to her badge, Emma twisted the hot water as far as she could stand it before getting undressed. Taking the bottle of scotch with her into the shower, Emma took a swig off it, too tired to fight the rush of memories.

She'd made the mistake of being relieved she wasn't going to be required in Gold's bed, and that whatever else he had in mind couldn't be as bad. For a while, she'd been right. He paraded her around, made her wait on him hand and foot, all while dressed the part of bed slave. Her nights were spent locked in a tiny closet of a room, no windows, no way out. Food varied with his moods, from overly rich and stomach upsetting to minimal or none at all. He'd knocked her around a few more times, but never as badly as the first, and he'd brought a doctor in to see to her wounds every time.

And then, Charles Ellis.

With a wince, she took another gulp of liquor, her head swimming and her throat burning. As she bent to put the bottle on the floor outside the tub nearly every muscle in her body groaned in protest, dragging her thoughts right back to that dingy bedroom.

Charles Ellis – Killian Jones, whoever he was – had turned up in Gold's crew for the first time maybe six months ago. A fairly minor player in the organization, Emma hadn't paid him much mind, even if he did seem to have an unusual interest in her. She was a blonde in a dress that barely covered her ass – most men had an interest in her.

She had never expected Gold to offer her up to the man. When he was in a rewarding mood, it was usually money, sometimes favors, but never anything to do with her.

And when Charl-Killian offered her an out – an out she now realized was possibly his way of trying to spare her dignity while maintaining his own cover – she assumed it was a test. Figuring sex with a drug dealer was better than another beating, the best approach was to just rip off the Band-Aid and get it over with. If Gold thought her cowed and under his absolute control, he wouldn't see her as a threat, and maybe then she could finally get enough to put him away. Just like with the beating, fighting back against his command was something Emma would do – but she had to be Emily.

How she had missed an undercover cop right under her nose the entire time was a bruise on her ego – that she'd had sex with him was nearly unbearable. What must he think of her? No one beyond Regina knew Emma hadn't actually been sleeping with Gold. So for all Killian Jones knew, Emma was willing to screw Gold and whoever else came along.

 _Even if he did try to give you an out, he still thought you were eighteen and being mistreated already. He should have found another way, should have fought more. What the hell kind of cop is he? What kind of_ man _is he?_

Emma stayed under the spray until the hot water ran out, forcing herself to remain still and not scrub her skin raw. She knew as well as anyone it would accomplish nothing, even if her flesh crawled and her fingers twitched. Her towels hung outside the curtain waiting for her, soft and familiar, and it was a relief to wrap herself up in one, even if she did nearly trip over the forgotten scotch bottle in the process. She scowled at it as it rolled under the vanity, exhausted and emotionally drained. Figuring the scotch would keep, she dried off and collapsed into bed.

Tired as she was, she expected to fall into a dreamless sleep and wake up maybe a few days later. But her mind wasn't willing to quiet, wasn't willing to let go of what had happened with Killian Jones.

She dreamt of startling blue eyes and woke gasping, her sheets soaked in sweat and her pulse pounding. The muted light of dawn surrounding her, Emma sucked in as much air as she could, forcing her breathing to level out. It had only been a few hours.

Cursing herself, she made quick work of stripping the sheets and replacing them with clean ones, tugging a T-shirt over her head before getting back into bed. Willing sleep to come, she settled back and closed her eyes.

But try as she might, her thoughts continued to swirl. Why had she taunted him the way she had? If he really had been Charles Ellis, he might have killed her for it. She'd seen men kill for less. It had been stupid, and dangerous, and not behavior anyone would expect from Emily. So why had she done it? Had some part of her known, even then, that he wasn't who he said he was?

She'd been angry, and humiliated, and backed into a corner. Of course she had lashed out – except it was her job to control her reactions to just such provocations. Maybe he had been in the same place in the same moment – she remembered the way the humanity seemed to disappear from his features, the knife twist of him telling her to be more _entertaining_.

The truly fucked up part was that she had been bothered by how much it took to arouse him – it had felt like a further insult on top of the hundreds of others that an objectively attractive man didn't want her. She should have been relieved, but fear of Gold's reaction and her own stupid pride had won.

Pride. Pride had to be the explanation behind his own behavior, the way he had flipped her over and _touched_ her. That was a whole other set of mental gymnastics she didn't want to deal with – there had been a moment when it felt good, when a tiny part of her had wondered if the circumstances were different…

 _It does not mean you enjoyed yourself. It does not mean you wanted to have sex with him. It's a biological reaction to stimulation._

No matter how many times she repeated it to herself, she still felt dirty.

Another shower and a strong cup of coffee with a bear claw from the corner market, and Emma was back in her car and on her way to the office. There was no point in trying to sleep – she was too keyed up from her tangled thoughts and twisting nightmares.

Regina's eyebrows raised in surprise when Emma walked in. "I expected you to take the day."

"I'm fine." Emma sank down into a chair in front of Regina's desk, swallowing another mouthful of coffee. "Where are we at?"

Dark brown eyes studied her, and Emma had the usual slightly uneasy sensation of having her secrets exposed. Very little got past Regina, but there were some things Emma wouldn't talk about. Not now. Not ever.

"Killian Jones quit BPD last night," Regina finally said, her focus entirely on Emma as though she was waiting for her reaction – waiting and evaluating.

"He quit?" The news infuriated her – he just _quit_? Gold was out there somewhere, on the loose and out of her sight because of his stupid squad and he _quit_? "He can't. He has information we need."

"That is exactly what I told his sergeant. Nolan provided no explanation, but he made it clear he thought the detective wonder may respond to your requests."

"Seriously?"

"Yes." Regina reached for the pad of paper on her desk, handing Emma a scribbled address. "I had planned to send Ruby and Graham, but since you've come in, it would be better you went. I want him here in an hour."

"You want me to _go get_ _him_? What the hell, Regina?" The woman had asked a lot of her over the years, and she'd done it – chain of command and all that. But this didn't feel like any other assignment.

"You yourself said only moments ago we need him. Is there a problem?"

 _Of course there's a problem! I slept with him, if you can even call it that. We had sex. Terrible, awkward, I don't even fully know what I think about it sex. And then had dreams about sex with him, and it_ wasn't _terrible. Just what the hell do I do with all that?_

"No." Emma grit her teeth and snatched the address from Regina's fingers. She wasn't about to explain to her boss the nightmares or dreams or her conflicted emotions. It didn't matter, at the end of the day – Emma's personal feelings weren't relevant. She would do whatever it took to put a stop to Gold, and if that meant finding a deep, dark hole inside herself to bury her time with Killian in, well, that was what she was going to do.

Reassuring herself it was a reflex to check the gun at her hip, Emma headed back out into the city, following her phone's GPS until she pulled up to an apartment building that could have been any other. Figuring the element of surprise was on her side, she slipped through the door behind another resident, glancing at the paper in her hand one more time before pressing the elevator button for his floor. She'd stewed the entire drive, struggling to lock everything away, but all it had resulted in was an exhausted, simmering rage pulsing below her skin.

She stopped in front of Killian's door, weighing her choices. She could knock like a normal person, or she could bang on his door and announce herself to all his neighbors. She wanted option B, if for no other reason than it would feel good to hit something, but since stealth was her specialty, option A won.

Muffled footsteps approached, and there was a long pause before the door opened. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and his hair was mussed as though he'd been sleeping – or trying to – when she interrupted. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?" The words were sharp, but he sounded more baffled than alarmed, rubbing his eyes and blinking at her.

Emma was already spoiling for a fight, and the greeting pushed her temper into overdrive. "What the hell am I doing here? You quit! If either of us has the right to walk away and take a little vacation, it's me. But here I am, Jones, here I am. If I can suck it up, so can you." She pushed her way past him into the apartment, surprisingly nice on the inside despite the drab hallway. An empty rum bottle sat on the kitchen counter, but the place was otherwise spotless.

He closed the door, leaning back against it and regarding her with an impossible to read expression, arms folded over his chest. "Why are you here, Swan?" he finally asked, the words quiet and controlled, his eyes focused on a spot over her shoulder.

"Why did you quit?" she demanded.

"I wished to catch up on my Netflix queue," he drawled, his pose maddeningly casual.

"Is this a joke to you? Do you have any idea what we're up against? I've spent years working my way to Gold's side, months living in his various hellholes around the city. You don't know, you _can't_ know what that has been like. And you're just going to stand there and crack jokes like…" She threw her hands up, wanting to throttle him. "What the hell is _wrong_ with you?"

"A great many things, I suspect." He shrugged, unfolding his arms and letting them fall to his sides loosely. His body language was carefully composed to give the appearance of nonchalance, but he couldn't completely hide the tension in his shoulders.

"So you just give up?" Her hands settled firmly on her hips, her fingers curling into the denim beneath. "Just let your buddies bust in and Gold gets away?"

"I was not aware they were planning a bloody raid. If I had…"

"If you had, you what? Would have made sure you had all your clothes on before they stormed in?" She rolled her eyes, gesturing to his bare chest. "Or maybe this is just your thing?"

"You don't know a damn bit about me, love. I suggest you leave off the assumptions." His infuriating calm slipped, revealing the same glint of temper she remembered from their encounter at Gold's.

"If you would tell me the truth, I wouldn't have to make assumptions!"

He shifted his eyes, finally making eye contact, but kept silent. There was a stillness about him, a hunter's grace in the absolute control he held himself with. When he finally spoke, his voice had regained the same careful control. "The truth is a long tale filled with horrors I would rather not discuss."

"If you want to compare horror stories, you're going to find out real quick you're gonna lose," she snapped back, her thin patience failing. She was exhausted and humiliated, and if he thought he was going to get any of her pity, he was sorely mistaken.

"I will let that go, because you're angry. You've a right to be angry. But don't you bloody dare talk to me about horror stories ever again." Black rage lashed his eyes when she looked up, surprised at the venom in his tone, the façade of control shattered. His fists were tight at his sides, the muscles of his chest and arms straining against his skin. "I will say it once more. Tell me why you're here, Swan, or leave me be."

"My boss wants to see you," she said flatly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of engaging further despite the tremble of anger in her hands.

"Whatever she needs to know is in the report. I emailed it into my sergeant an hour ago. If that's all…"

"That is _not_ all. I don't get it, Jones. You were willing to do whatever it took before – I know what you did for Gold. You took drugs in front of me, never mind what else you did – what's different now? Was fucking me just more than you could handle?" Emma knew she was out of line, that she was baiting him now like she had then, but she couldn't seem to tamp down her fury.

He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing with the motion, and she braced herself for the retort that didn't come. Instead, Killian's shoulders sagged and he pressed his palm over his face before taking a deep breath, his control returning. "I apologize. I should have found another way."

"Yes, you should have."

"What do you want from me, lass? I've apologized." He let a breath out slowly, pushing off the door to stand in front of her. "I won't beg, if that's what you're after. You played your part in it, same as me."

"It was not the same as…"

"I provided you another option," he growled, his voice so low she stepped closer without meaning to. His eyes sparked with suppressed anger when she met his stare, his lips pressed into a hard line. "Why didn't you take it?" The question was softer, a desperate plea, as though that night had haunted him as it had her.

"You know what a sick bastard Gold is. I thought it was a test." Emma shrugged, shaking her head to clear her thoughts. She didn't owe Killian Jones any explanations, and definitely not about that. "Get dressed. Regina is waiting."

"Afraid not, darling. As delightful as your company has been, it's all in the report. There is nothing for you here." The last words were especially bitter.

"You're a coward." She expected the insult to get a reaction, but he only stood there, staring at her like he agreed. Annoyance bloomed into icy fury, and she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. "I've asked the nice way. Now I'm telling you. You can go get dressed and come with me on your own, or I can call my boss, get a subpoena, and have you brought in as a material witness. Your choice."

Anger made his eyes brighter, an angry sea crashing down on her. She froze, the image merging with him above her, that startling blue focused on her. What might it be like to have that attention on her entirely of his own volition, his eyes filled with something just as potent?

 _Nothing you're ever going to find out_ , she told herself firmly, holding his stare until he looked away. Muttering under his breath, he stalked across the room, disappearing down the hall. A door slammed, and water turned on moments later.

Which left Emma standing awkwardly in the middle of Killian's living room.

Without him there to distract her, she took a long, slow look around. The apartment wasn't huge, but it was generous for the city. Like her, he had little furniture, but the few pieces were all rich, dark woods and smooth leather. She ran her fingers over the back of the couch as she moved closer, the leather warm under her cold hands.

A pillow and blanket were shoved aside as though he'd been sleeping on the couch when she arrived, yet another puzzle piece that didn't have a home. The door was open to his bedroom, and though she couldn't see much, there was a bed. Why had he been sleeping in his living room?

 _Maybe he has nightmares too._

 _I don't give a shit if he does._

Knowing it was a lie, she turned away, examining the bookshelves. A handful of knickknacks were carefully arranged on the top shelf, the remaining ones neatly filled with books and framed photos.

Her eye caught on what appeared to be a family photo, Killian with his arm around a petite brunette and a young blonde girl – except there was another man next to the woman, and he was the one wearing a wedding band to match hers. The Killian in that photo wasn't the same man she'd dealt with – his skin was deeply tanned by long exposure to the sun, glints of red bleached into his hair, and he was in military fatigues.

He was also smiling – a brilliant, pure smile that lit up his entire face.

"Best not keep your boss waiting."

Killian's voice startled her, and she snatched her hand back from the photo. She had nothing to feel guilty about – the photo was in plain sight – but she still felt as if she had somehow intruded by the gravel in his voice.

With damp hair falling into his eyes, he made a striking picture. Cheeks flushed from his shower, his leather jacket hugged his shoulders with a neatly buttoned black vest beneath it. He was wearing the same belt he'd had on when they'd…it was the same one. No one else was likely to notice, considering it was a plain black leather belt like hundreds of men in the city probably owned.

But Emma noticed.

"Let's go." She turned her back to him, letting her hair fall forward and shield her from his prying eyes. He didn't need to see her burning cheeks – or curiosity.

He followed silently, his expression once again closed off and unreadable. He stayed quiet the entire drive back to the field office, watching the traffic while Emma struggled not to fidget. She was an FBI agent. She did not fidget.

It wasn't a short walk from the garage under the building to Regina's office, and the silence only grew more strained the longer it went on. She knew she should apologize for her behavior at his apartment – she was over the line – but a part of her still thought he deserved it. He'd crossed the line first, and in a much bigger way than she ever could.

Emma ignored the fact that he'd tried to refuse, and she had been the one to push the issue.

Regina was waiting for them in the hallway next to an open conference room door. "You're late," was her only greeting, and Emma, used to Regina's mercurial moods, merely rolled her eyes. She slid past her boss, ready to fall into a chair and let Regina take over, only to find someone else already in the room.

"David Nolan," the man said as he stood, holding out his hand to her. "Killian's sergeant." Behind him, a gun and a badge sat on the conference table, the badge gleaming in the sunlight.

Startled, she shook his hand and turned to watch Killian, but he didn't seem surprised at all. In fact, he merely nodded his head in silent acknowledgment as David handed him back his gun and shield.

"I thought you quit."

"So did I," was his only response, a mumble lost in the rustle of his clothes as he settled the gun back on his hip and badge on his belt. Realizing she was staring, Emma quickly averted her gaze and became very interested in making herself a cup of coffee from the small selection of supplies set against the wall.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

I hope that clears up some questions about what exactly Emma was doing at Gold's! Also, forgot to put this on the last chapter - I'm not a cop. I don't work for the FBI. I did my best to do actual research with the Google machine instead of relying on TV shows, but I probably still got some things wrong along the way.

Fun fact - this is the shortest chapter of the entire fic (in its draft version anyway). I got a little long-winded on this one! Both oubliette14 and kliomuse assure me this is not a problem...


	3. Chapter 3

Emma avoided taking her seat at the conference table as long as she could, but once there, she forced her spine straight and her gaze level. Killian had gotten under her skin at his apartment, and she wasn't going to let him, or exhaustion, or stress, or any of it, get the better of her again.

"Mr. Jones, I would like to begin with..."

"Detective," he cut in, raising an eyebrow with a mocking smile that Emma somehow felt was directed at her, despite Regina having been the one to speak. " _Detective_ Jones."

Regina's eyes narrowed dangerously, her smile ice cold. "Detective, I understand that at the time of your compromising our investigation, you were also lying to your commanding officer regarding your whereabouts."

"My niece…"

"You have no living relatives."

His jaw tightened in response, and for a brief moment, Emma felt badly for him. She had seen the photo at his apartment, the young girl who clearly meant a lot to him. Not all family was blood – Emma knew that as well as anyone.

But his feelings were none of her concern.

"Belle Scarlet is like a sister to me. That makes her daughter my niece, blood or no." The words bordered on a growl, and Emma watched David reach for Killian's shoulder as his face darkened in anger. "Get on it with it, Ms. Mills. You had me dragged from my apartment like some common thief and I…"

"Special Agent," Regina cut in, and Emma had to swallow her surprised laugh, hiding her smile behind her coffee at Regina's smug tone. She _did_ feel for Killian, but he'd dug his own grave insisting on the _detective_ title. "Special Agent in Charge, if you'd like to use the full title, _Detective_." Regina managed to make a mockery of the word, the syllables twisting from her lips full of contempt.

"Let's all take a breath." David's grip on Killian's shoulder tightened, his knuckles white against the black leather, but his voice remained level. "We're on the same side. No need for a jurisdictional pissing match." When no one reached for their guns, he leaned back, releasing his grip on Killian. "Rose Scarlet was found during the raid on Gold's location. Killian was not authorized to conduct his own investigation into that matter, though he had been working with narcotics, and that put him in a unique position to infiltrate Gold's trafficking operation."

So far, they hadn't covered anything Emma didn't already know. She'd paid attention when Killian had been talking to one of his buddies, and while she didn't know Rose was practically family, she'd figured out the girl meant a lot to him. And she'd told Regina all of this in their debrief, so her boss had to have her own reasons for playing dumb. The woman had a purpose behind every blink of her eye.

"And what did having sex with a barely legal, trafficked girl have to do with either the authorized or unauthorized investigation?"

Emma willed herself not to react, though there was nothing she could do about the heat in her cheeks. _A little warning would have been nice._ But she kept her eyes locked on Killian, waiting to see what he would say.

"She isn't barely bloody legal, and there were two of us in that sodding room." His own face flushed, Killian turned his piercing stare on her. "Has anyone demanded _your_ explanation, Swan? Aye, I accept a lapse in judgment on my part, and would that I could go back in time and make a different choice, but I won't be strung up by the bollocks over this when there were _two_ bloody people in that room!"

"I've already told you my explanation, Jones," she said cooly. She hadn't expected his anger, but then again, she hadn't given much thought at all as to how he felt about the whole situation – she'd been far too busy attempting to glue and tape herself back together.

 _It doesn't matter._

"Did _Special Agent_ Swan tell you I provided her an alternative option?" He turned his attention instead to Regina, the timbre of his voice dropping once more even as his volume rose. "I gave her another bloody option and she refused! Rest assured, I found the entire thing bloody distasteful and would have enjoyed nothing more than…"

Emma lost track of his tirade, her spiraling thoughts drowning everything else out. _Distasteful_ , he said, like she actually _was_ a used up whore, like she was something to be ashamed of. Like he hadn't been the one to flip her over and…

"Yes, Emma explained the circumstances to me."

"I told you, I thought it was a test," she snapped, refusing to allow Regina to defend her when she was sitting right there. "Can we move on? It happened. We don't need to keep talking about it. We _do_ need to talk about how we're going to catch Gold and put a stop to this for good." She didn't want to keep talking about herself and Killian and whatever had happened between them, especially not with him sitting across from her, appearing for all the world to be torn between apologizing and screaming.

Regina stared at her, expression unreadable, but nodded after a moment of some kind of silent evaluation. "She's right. The two of you collectively know more about Gold's operation than any other law enforcement in the greater Boston area. Our task force is devoting its resources to taking him out for good. Under the FBI's direction, Jones will work with Special Agent Swan to apprehend Gold and dismantle his operation."

"I'm all for catching the bastard, but my guys report to me." David Nolan crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair and regarding Regina with a stubborn set to his jaw. "I'm sure she's plenty capable, but Agent Swan does not have authority over Boston PD."

"Take it up with the Director. Or better yet, since you're so fond of your own ranks, call the Commissioner. He agreed to it this morning." Regina smiled sweetly, tossing a file folder onto the table in front of each of them. "We've established a preliminary fact sheet based off Emma's debrief. Now, we're going to go through it and see if the detective wonder has anything he'd like to add. Questions?"

"You want us to work together?" Emma blurted out, glancing down at the file in front of her. That was not part of the plan – Killian was supposed to come in, answer Regina's questions, and never be seen or heard from again; he was supposed to get locked up in a box in her mind, forgotten with all the other pieces of herself she'd lost along the way. She loved her job, but it came with a cost.

"Is there a problem?"

 _Traitor_. Emma glared at Regina, knowing she was stuck. She either took the assignment, or she admitted that Killian had gotten under her skin in front of an entire room full of people.

"No," she heard herself reply, her voice someone else's – someone cold and collected, not the mess of emotions that was currently Emma Swan. "No problem."

"Detective?"

Emma met Killian's stare head on, refusing to blink under his examination. Something an awful lot like apology lurked in his eyes again, his fingers twitching until he raised them to scratch behind his ear. "No problem," he finally answered quietly, eyes dropping to the file in front of him. "Where shall we begin?"

By the time the two cops left, Emma was exhausted. Having spent the better part of the previous night rehashing it all with Regina, going back over every last terrible bit with an audience had not been her idea of a good time. It didn't help that she was still weak from her time with Gold, too many months without regular meals or the opportunity to see the inside of a gym catching up with her.

"You could have warned me," she said sourly to Regina as they gathered the files strewn across the conference table. Emma glanced up from the mess, strands of hair escaping the messy bun she'd given into hours ago, watching her boss for some kind of reaction.

"You could have said no."

"We both know that's not true." Emma grabbed a handful of half-empty Chinese food containers and threw them into the garbage with more force than the task required. "I would have done it either way. I don't appreciate being blindsided."

Regina shrugged, stacking file folder on top of file folder. "I wanted an honest reaction."

"I'm a big girl. I can handle the detective."

"Can you, Emma? Because I watched you today. You were angry."

"Oh, like you're one to talk about having a temper." Emma rolled her eyes, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming with frustration.

"It was an observation, not a judgment. You're right. I do have a temper. But you don't, not like what I saw today. Whatever happened between you two, whatever details aren't in your reports, you need to work it out. I don't need to remind you that in our line of work, you need to trust the people on your team. People die when you don't." Regina sighed, shrugging back into the suit jacket she'd draped over her chair. "And if you can't trust him, then I'll reassign you."

"Reassign _me_? What the hell? _I_ get kicked off the team because of him? Really? After everything you've said to me over the years about how women get screwed over around here and… "

"You get reassigned because he has more information on the day-to-day operations than you do. He managed to infiltrate the organization. He knows suppliers, warehouse locations. He knows things you don't. It's not a comment on your performance. You know you're a damn good agent." Regina gestured vaguely at the files, exhaustion creeping into her voice. "This needs to stop."

"So all that time I spent at that monster's side was a waste, that's what you're saying? I put myself through that for nothing? My information isn't as good as the detective's?" Her words took on an increasingly hysterical edge, and Emma knew she wasn't being completely rational, but she couldn't seem to stop herself.

"No. That is not what I'm saying." Regina arched a brow, gathering up a stack of files. "This is the exact thing I'm talking about, though. You're exhausted, Emma. Go home. Sleep. Don't come in tomorrow and take the weekend to regroup. Eat some of that damned grilled cheese you're so fond of."

"I can't just do nothing. He's out there and he's…"

"I shouldn't have to tell you we are not going to end this in three days. We need time to observe and plan our next move. Gold has gone to ground since the raid, and he'll be suspicious now. We need to play the long game, and you know that as well as any of us. You want something to do in the meantime? Make peace with the detective. I don't care how you do it. Scream, yell, punch the guy, I don't care, Emma. But do it." Regina directed a pointed look at the door, adding the files in Emma's hands to her own stack. "Good night, Miss Swan."

Emma resisted the urge to stomp her feet every step of the way back into the underground parking garage. She hated when Regina addressed her as _Miss Swan_ – a fact her boss well knew. But she was trained to not behave like a child, and she would remember that.

Still, she fumed the entire drive back to her apartment. Regina was right, in a way – Killian _had_ managed to push her buttons all afternoon and evening. There was just something about him that made her blood boil. Maybe it was his stupid accent. Maybe it was those eyes of his that had already begun to haunt her dreams.

Maybe it was the way she would catch him looking at her, something soft and maybe just a little broken in his expression, words on the tip of his tongue before his attention was called back to the matter at hand.

Dropping her keys to the floor once inside her apartment, Emma leaned back against the closed door and let out a breath. She was used to functioning on little sleep, but the maybe five hours in three days was pushing it. She needed to crawl in her bed and stay there.

After a shower.

Retrieving the bottle of scotch from under the vanity, she set it on the countertop and eyed herself in the mirror. Bloodshot eyes, dark circles for miles, hollow cheeks, limp and snarled hair – she made a delightful picture. She'd lost weight, the few curves she'd managed to keep barely hanging on, and if she were feeling brave enough to stand in front of the mirror naked, she'd likely be able to count far too many of her ribs. The cracked lips and sallow skin were just the icing on the proverbial cake.

 _Who gives a shit?_

 _You. You give a shit. You're falling apart. Emma Swan does not fall apart._

Rolling her eyes at herself, she undressed and got in the shower. The hot water beat against the sore muscles in her back, the day of tension draining out of her. She expected to be able to sleep by the time she toweled off, but somehow the shower had woken her up.

Pouring a measure of scotch – maybe that would do the trick – Emma curled up on her couch, laptop open. If she was going to be awake, she would be productive. And her first order of business was finding out whatever she could about Killian Jones. She had learned not to like surprises in her line of work, and she was damn good at making sure there weren't any.

Accessing the FBI's database, within a few clicks she found herself staring at a younger version of him. He wore the no-nonsense expression favored in military IDs, the hint of a black T-shirt showing at the bottom of the frame below a clean-shaven jaw. The stern look did nothing to hide his attractiveness, though she preferred his current scruffy look over the buzzed hair and smooth cheeks.

 _Stop it. You don't prefer anything about him._

As she suspected from the photo in his apartment, he'd done time in the military. Joining up at seventeen, she was surprised to see he'd been admitted to the Naval Academy, and done rather well. Following graduation, he'd spent considerable time out to sea. He rose quickly through the ranks, but his service record was otherwise routine – except at twenty-five, there was a sudden shift, back-to-back tours in the Middle East littering the page.

Emma frowned as she counted, her eyes scanning the records. A total of five tours, all of them to hot zones. All of them extremely dangerous. And then, without warning, an abrupt departure and the beginning of his time with the Boston PD.

 _Weird_. He'd been promoted quickly, all signs pointing toward a promising career, never mind what it must have taken to get into himself to Annapolis in the first place. Joining up so young, by the time he was discharged, he was a mere five years away from retirement and all the benefits that came with it. Something had to have happened to make him change course and give that all up after fifteen years.

Clicking on the disciplinary section, Emma thought she'd figured it out. There was a record of a fraternization charge with an enlisted woman, but upon closer examination, the charge was old, not long after the detective had left Annapolis a newly minted officer. And there was no record of punishment or consequences.

Curious as to what had happened to the woman – _isn't it always the woman who gets screwed in these situations_ – Emma typed her name into the search. She blinked several times once the record loaded, as if that would make the _deceased_ label disappear. "What the hell happened to you?" she asked the photo on her screen, the woman all dark hair and smooth skin even in her stern military portrait.

With each scroll of her mouse, Emma's stomach dropped a little bit further. The best she could piece it together, not long after she'd been accused of fraternizing with Killian, she'd gone out on a routine patrol – and never come back.

Glancing at the date, she returned to Killian's record. Sure enough, the start of his back-to-back tours coincided with the woman's death. _Did he have something to do with it?_ She stared at his photo, wondering what sort of man he was beneath the charming smile and pretty blue eyes. _Did he get her killed?_

 _Is he going to get me killed?_

She didn't want to believe that, but it sent a shiver down her spine. Closing her eyes, she leaned back into the couch and took a deep breath. She didn't know much about Killian Jones, but a man willing to put himself into Gold's path to save a teenage girl, without the support of his unit behind him, didn't seem like the type to kill a woman.

But it did show a remarkable disregard for his own safety, especially when combined with the tours. No one got sent on that many tours, not that close together. He had to have volunteered. Was he just reckless, or was it his idea of penance? And if it was, what the hell did he feel so guilty about? The timing of his tours lined up with Milah's death too perfectly to just be coincidence.

 _Go to bed._ She opened her eyes to the dark room, setting the laptop on the coffee table with a sigh. Rubbing at her brow, she went into the kitchen for a glass of water, struggling to calm her thoughts.

 _Not everyone is a terrible human being at their core. You assume the worst. You always do. Get some sleep and decide when you're more rational. You could just ask him about it._

 _He might lie._

 _You're pretty good at spotting liars._

Her thoughts flickered back to that dingy bedroom at Gold's, and she grimaced as she put the glass in the dishwasher, gulping down the last of her water. _Okay, maybe not so good._

"Bed," she muttered to herself, shaking her head and shuffling toward the bedroom. Her thoughts were too muddled tonight to make any sense of what she'd learned. She would sleep on it and decide what to do in the morning.

But the dawn didn't bring any answers.

Emma eyed her laptop as she made her way into the kitchen, setting coffee to brew as she yawned. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept for eight hours all at once, even if those eight hours were filled with dreams that left her more anxious than rested. Killian had been there again, yet this time, instead of appearing as a drug dealer, he'd burst in wearing his military fatigues…only to stand there and do nothing while a gun was aimed at her face.

Shivering with the memory, Emma pulled her sweater tighter around herself. It didn't take a shrink to put two and two together – her overtired, overactive imagination had twisted events to incorporate the worst-case scenario out of Killian's files.

Unbidden, the photo from his apartment jumped to the forefront of her thoughts, his easy, happy smile and the family at his side. That he would go after his friend's daughter come hell or high water spoke of deep loyalty. Emma didn't know many people with a sense of honor like that these days.

Taking her coffee with her back to the couch, Emma opened up her laptop and resumed her digging. Starting from the beginning this time, she noted both parents were listed as deceased, as well as an older brother. Further investigation revealed he'd been born in London, moved to New York with his father and brother at the age of ten, only to be orphaned two years later. His brother had been eighteen at the time and taken on the responsibility of raising him, but only days before Killian's seventeenth birthday, Liam was dead, too, in a routine training exercise gone wrong. Looking at the dates, Liam couldn't have even been buried by the time Killian signed on with the Navy the day after he turned seventeen.

"Damn," Emma muttered, rubbing at her eyes and sipping her coffee. It wasn't like she'd had it any easier in the foster homes of the greater Boston area, but at least she'd never known her parents. It was a blessing, in a way – all she'd ever known was abandonment. She couldn't imagine what it might have been to have a parent's love ripped away.

And if he really did consider the girl to be family, perhaps he would have been desperate enough to do just about anything – including sleeping with a young girl who might have information to help him.

 _Regina said learn to trust him, not make excuses._

Shaking her head at herself, Emma closed the laptop, determined to forget about Killian Jones for at least a few hours. She needed groceries and to get back into the gym, and maybe a few more hours of sleep.

And yet, he followed her down the aisles, waiting to twist up her frustration and guilt as she stared at the selection of apples – he nipped at her heels her entire pathetic run on the treadmill, taunted her with every punch she landed on the bag, a nonstop litany of memories and facts.

By the time she got out of the shower, Emma knew what needed to be done. Regina had said to find a way to trust him, and she'd tried, digging up information to find something she could lean on. But the more she read, the more questions she had, and she wasn't going to get anywhere brooding over his file.

Picking up her phone from the bathroom vanity, she quickly sent Regina a text asking for the detective's number before she changed her mind. The reply came back instantly – just the number, no commentary.

 _You are a goddamn FBI agent. You can handle questioning a cop._

Scowling at herself, she tapped out a message asking if he was free to meet and hit send. Two professionals meeting to discuss the case. That's all it was. With some sleep and a more casual environment, she would be able to get a better read on him.

Killian Jones was not going to be the reason she got kicked off her own case.

His reply wasn't long in coming, and though she half-expected him to make a joke of it, he merely asked where she'd like to meet. Giving him the address of a diner within walking distance from her apartment that was easily accessible by the T, she arranged a meeting in an hour.

She dressed quickly, her favorite jeans and red leather jacket she had missed while on her latest assignment, and settled back down with Killian's file. Maybe it was slightly unfair of her to prepare for the meeting like it was an interrogation, but she refused to let him push her buttons again. She would be cool, calm, collected – professional. Maybe she could give herself a pass for her behavior at his apartment, given she was caught off guard and exhausted, but it wouldn't happen again.

Grabbing a scarf to ward off the chill in the air, Emma arrived at the diner fifteen minutes ahead of time, planning to grab a table and wait for him, but to her surprise, he was already there. Leaning up against the brick wall next to the door, he could have been posing for an ad for the jeans hugging his thighs.

"I see I'm not the only one who prefers to be punctual," he said in greeting, flashing her a smile that hinted at flirtation.

"Work for Regina long enough and you'll never be late for anything in your life." She ignored his smile and his damned jeans.

He chuckled, nodding in understanding and gesturing toward the door. "Shall we?" When she took a step forward, he opened the door, holding it for her. "After you."

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes in his face, Emma forced a gracious smile and slipped past him into the warm and bright diner. Given the late hour, it was quiet inside, even the last-call crowd tucked safely in their beds for the night. Emma slid into a booth, keeping her back to the wall and leaving him the seat with the door behind him.

An awkward silence grew as he shrugged out of his jacket in the warmth of the diner and Emma untangled her scarf, setting it on the seat beside her. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn't bothered to eat dinner, and she glanced down at the menu. It wasn't Granny's, but it was pretty hard to screw up grilled cheese.

"The red suits you," he finally said, his focus on her coat when her eyes darted up from the menu. If he noticed that it hung rather loosely on her, he refrained from commenting. "Most of you feds stick to the all black ensemble."

"Regina hates it," she mumbled, running her fingers over the well-worn leather. She'd had the thing for almost ten years, and the material was butter-soft.

"Not very stealthy."

"No. I had to give up my car, but I kept the jacket." Emma rolled her eyes at the memory, the argument that ensued when Regina insisted she stop trying to conduct stakeouts in her bright yellow Bug and take one of the FBI's cars instead.

"Sorry, love. Can't say I have any sympathy for you and your on-the-government vehicle." His lips twitched with a smile to soften the words, and in spite of herself, Emma smiled back. The undercurrent of discomfort in his presence wasn't going away anytime soon, but maybe this wouldn't be so difficult after all.

The waitress's arrival cut off their conversation, and Emma quickly ordered her grilled cheese and hot chocolate, while Killian chose black coffee and a piece of pie.

"Sweet tooth?"

He shrugged, glancing down at his hands. Small scars littered his skin, silver rings banded around his thumb and right ring finger. "Sugar was in short supply where I was stationed for many years."

"Why did you leave the Navy?"

Whatever she expected, it wasn't what she got. Killian's face drained of all color, only to be replaced by a shade so dark it was nearly purple. All trace of humor wiped from his expression, he very slowly said, "You pulled my service record."

Emma shrugged, keeping quiet as the waitress deposited their drinks. "FBI," was her only reply once they were left alone again. She paused, tilting her head as she studied the flood of emotion twisting his features. "What's the matter, Jones? Upset my toys are better than yours? I'm betting you tried to look me up." The words came out more sarcastic than intended, an accusation more than anything.

"Actually, beyond the basic confirmation you were in fact who you said you were, I did not. It hardly seemed good form to go rummaging about into your past." He wrapped both hands around his mug of coffee, staring into the dark depths. "Though you had no such qualms," he added bitterly. "What is the purpose of this meeting, Swan? If you're worried I may quit on you again, I assure you it was a lapse in judgment on my part the last time. I only chose to walk away when it seemed my absence would aid the situation."

 _Like you quit the Navy?_ But Emma didn't say that – he wouldn't answer her question that way.

"Regina said to find a way to trust you. I did my homework." She swallowed past the guilt, past the obvious violation he felt at her research – she flat out ignored how pissed she would be if he had done the same thing.

"That is unfair. I have been honest with you since the raid. If there was something you wished to know, you merely had to ask."

"I just did. Why did you leave the Navy?" she repeated, holding his stare with a practiced coolness she didn't feel. Pretending he was any other suspect wasn't working – something in his eyes made her want to squirm in her seat, as though he could see through her and her veneer of professionalism.

"I'll spare us both the game of twenty bloody questions. You've found something you believe incriminating in your nosing about in my affairs. Let's have it, then. What dark secret are you after?"

"Milah."

His eyes widened, flashing with anger as the color drained from his face for a second time. "Buggering hell, is there nothing sacred? I don't understand you, Emma Swan. One moment, I think I've got a handle on you. Bit of an open book. And then the next you sit across from me conducting an interrogation, when I was under the impression we were here trying to move past the ugliness of the other evening. Where did you even…" He stopped, eyes narrowing and knuckles whitening where he gripped his mug. His eyes closed for a long moment, his shoulders rising and falling as he took a deep breath. "Milah has no bearing on this investigation. Leave it the bloody hell alone."

"No? A woman you closely worked with ended up dead and that has no bearing on our situation?"

"The circumstances are hardly the same."

"Explain how that's the case. You worked together in dangerous conditions. She had to put her life in your hands. I have to do the same. How am I supposed to trust you?"

He settled back against the booth, eyes narrowed with anger as he studied her. Drawing on years of training, Emma let him, her own frustrations held under lock and key. Let him try to break her – he wouldn't succeed.

"That was many years ago. I was young and naïve. And you and I, it's not…we aren't…"

"We aren't what? Screwing?" She smirked, leaning across the table and ignoring the panic clawing at her throat as memories flooded in. "Oh, wait, we _did_ do that."

"That's right, love. We did. And that's what this is really about, is it not? You don't care a whit why I left the service, or even about Milah. It's about you, me, and what went on in that hellhole." He took another deep breath, a measure of anger slipping away from him as he sipped his coffee, watching her over the mug's rim. When he spoke again, it was with a quiet, exhausted certainty. "That's why you want to make me the villain, interrogate me like one of your sodding criminals, but you see, Swan, nothing is that plain. Aye, you're angry. I'm bloody angry, too. So instead of disturbing decade-old ghosts, shall we discuss that night instead?"

The waitress chose that moment to deliver their food, Emma locked into a silent stare with Killian. The tension between them thick, the waitress seemed hesitant to even ask if they needed anything else.

"No, thank you, love," Killian answered, his eyes not leaving Emma's. She ignored the flicker of irritation at him calling the waitress _love_ – what was with all the ridiculous pet names for women?

He looked away first, picking up his fork and stabbing it into his pie as though the apples had committed a terrible crime. He took a few bites, regarding her in between. She had the sense of being evaluated, and whatever he found made him set down his fork and lean closer over the table. "Why did you join the FBI?" he finally asked, no hint of his emotions in his voice. Somewhere along the line, he too had found a way to keep his feelings under lock and key.

It bothered her more than it should have.

Emma rolled her eyes, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of any further reaction. He may have thought he could turn the tables on her, but she'd been interrogating suspects much longer than he had. "Not important."

"How did you end up at Gold's?" he pressed in the same flat tone, watching her.

"It was an assignment."

"I'm told you volunteered."

"And so what if I did?" She swallowed her surprise, wondering how he could have possibly known that. He didn't have access to the FBI's personnel files, and Regina never would have told him.

"I should like to know why."

"I'd like to know why you left the Navy," she responded sweetly, taking another bite of her grilled cheese and chewing slowly.

He shrugged, picking up his fork again. "It was time for a change."

"That's not the whole story."

"You know, Swan, you've a right not to trust me at this juncture, but I've just as many reasons not to trust you. You've had the benefit of reading up on my life's history, and yet I know nearly nothing about you. Aye, I'm not proud of what we did at Gold's, but the reality is, as I've said before, that there were two of us in that situation. I hardly forced you."

Humiliation made her stomach turn, and she pushed away the plate with the remains of her dinner, no longer hungry. "You have no concept of what it's like being a woman in a situation like that."

"No, I do not. But you were posing as a bloody whore, Swan. If that was your angle, surely you must have been prepared for…"

"Don't you dare," she cut in, her temper flaring and words sharp. "Yes, I was prepared to do what I needed to in order to get close enough to Gold to get the information I needed. And if you truly had been one of his cronies, I was prepared for that too. But you weren't. You aren't. And you did it anyway."

His shoulders slumped, weariness settling over him. He hesitated for a moment before reaching across the table, his warm palm and callused fingers up against her bare skin. "Emma, I…"

"Don't touch me," she hissed, yanking her hand away.

He nodded, his hands settling in his lap. "I'm not going to hurt you. Your boss is right. We do need to be able to trust each other. Perhaps I'm wrong and we don't need to talk about the other night. Shall we pretend it never happened instead? Start over?"

"Just like that?"

His eyes trailed over her face before turning to the window, watching the people on the sidewalk before answering. "I lived in a war zone for many years. I'm quite good at pretending terrible things didn't happen."

"Okay."

"All right." He smirked, a measure of his earlier humor returning. "But it hardly seems fair, you knowing my secrets when I barely know a thing about you."

"You don't have to know me. We just need to find a way to work together."

He laughed, the sound more of a choked cough than true amusement. "You're afraid to talk to me, aren't you, love? Might actually reveal a bit of yourself."

"We're done here. I'm going now." Emma threw some bills on the table, quickly wrapping her scarf around her neck as she stood. He didn't argue, merely nodding with a knowing expression she didn't care for. She was relieved when he didn't follow her out the door, choosing to remain in the booth with his coffee.

She definitely did not notice that through the glass, sitting alone in that booth he seemed almost…lonely.

Ignoring the frustration and guilt their conversation had stirred up, Emma turned back toward her apartment, shoving her hands into her pockets. What was it about him that got under her skin so badly?

She didn't have an answer – and she wasn't sure she wanted one.

* * *

 **Many thanks to oubliette14 & kliomuse per usual for beta stuff and general hand holding. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Time for a little Killian POV!**

* * *

Killian watched her go out of the corner of his eye, forcing himself to take slow, measured sips of the freshly refilled coffee. It was burnt and tasted terrible, but he drank it anyway, focused on the scalding liquid on his tongue, the warmth in his belly. Only when he was certain she was gone did he allow himself to breathe deeply, his shoulders slumping and his palms pressing against his eyes. He had hoped her invitation was a sign she was processing, dealing, whatever the shrinks were calling it these days.

But that wasn't at all what Emma had had in mind. No, she'd sat across from him, smug as could be, downright bloody _pleased_ with herself that she'd found him out – not only with his service record, but the deepest, darkest hurts he'd so carefully buried.

And then proceeded to pour salt into them.

Yet all the while, no matter how many claws she showed, no matter how high his temper rose, it hadn't changed that she was breathtakingly beautiful, even when she was storming out in a fit of temper, cursing his name.

It didn't change that he wanted her – but Killian Jones so rarely got what he wanted.

 _Bloody stupid git._

He should have known better. He'd spent the day with her in that conference room, cold and hostile, and maybe an hour with her as Emily, snarling like a feral cat. She had her game face on tonight, and she was stupid if she thought he wouldn't recognize it – she had set this whole thing up to be an interrogation as though he was a mark.

And he'd fallen for it, desperate as he was to find a way to put that night behind them so they could focus on the real problem – catching Gold. Belle had her daughter back, aye, but she was one lass out of hundreds.

David had used that argument to striking effect when Killian had protested his reinstatement on the way back to his apartment. He'd meant it when he'd walked out of the district – but David was right. And being called a coward by Emma certainly had given him a shove in the right direction.

Staring at the remnants of Emma's grilled cheese across from him, Killian forced himself to count his breaths, in and out. Liam had taught him that, way back when he was a scared little boy in a giant city with a father who didn't give a damn.

 _She likely knows about Liam_ , he thought darkly, draining his coffee and tossing enough cash on the table to cover the bill. He should have known better about that too – a woman like Emma was suspicious by nature. She spent her life working with the scum of the earth. It was only logical she wouldn't trust him, especially since they'd had sex.

He hated even calling it that – it seemed to normalize what happened between them in a way that was so far from the truth it was almost laughable. But what else was he supposed to call it? Neither of them had forced the other. If anything, circumstance had forced them, but didn't that mean they'd both consented in their own twisted way?

Cursing under his breath, Killian turned up his collar and headed out into the cool damp. He'd been trying to sort what happened that night into a neat box for days now, and all it was doing was giving him a headache. It had been one thing to write it out matter-of-factly in his report – Gold offered her as a reward, he attempted to decline, she pressed the issue, he went along with it concerned about his cover and wanting to earn her trust – but it was another thing entirely to face his thoughts in the dark. Emma blamed him, but of everything he didn't know, that seemed to be the one thing he was certain of – it wasn't just his fault. Perhaps that was why she had managed to pique his temper in the diner; her constant insinuations that she was somehow his victim made him want to shake her until she listened. If he really wanted to be a bastard about it, he could point out that he'd attempted to decline, more than once, and _she_ had pressed _him_.

But Killian hadn't laid a hand on an unwilling woman his entire life, and shifting blame around like a shell game wouldn't solve a bit of it.

He _did_ need to find a way to learn to trust her, and more importantly, for her to trust him. It hadn't seemed worth pointing out to her that he was just as reluctant at this juncture to put his life in her hands, considering she seemed to barely tolerate him at present.

And she'd had the stones to bring up Milah.

Making a beeline for the nearly empty rum once inside his apartment, Killian took a generous swallow directly from the bottle before he got to taking his coat off. He thought of Milah often enough – he didn't need Emma to toss the woman in his face. He bore the scars and the guilt just fine all on his bloody own.

He would never forgive himself for what happened. That was his cross to bear, and he accepted that, but Emma's accusatory tone had stung.

It was a shame, really. Her text had been a welcome surprise, and she seemed somehow lighter on the sidewalk, her smile easier. She was downright beautiful in the glow of the diner's neon light with color back in her cheeks, and for a few precious moments, they'd had a normal conversation. He'd laughed and meant it – it had been a long time since he'd experienced such a simple pleasure.

 _You should have just answered her sodding questions. She's a fed. She'll find out whatever she wants to know one way or the other._

Tightening his grip on the neck of the rum bottle, Killian fell back onto the couch, his head lolling into the cushions. Her question had caught him off guard, likely her intention, and his composure had slipped. He should have just told her the truth – he left the Navy because he couldn't stomach it another moment, knowing if he renewed his contract he would be put out to sea on the same ship where he'd spent so much time with Milah.

On some level, he suspected she already knew that. Not the specifics, but that Milah had a fair bit to do with his decision to leave the service. Swan had a keen intelligence in her lovely green eyes, and the questions had been a test – one he'd failed miserably. He knew that now, for all the bloody good it did him.

Stumbling into his bedroom, he fumbled in the bedside drawer without bothering to turn on the light. The cool metal clinked into his fingers, and he curled his fist around the dog tags like a rosary. It had been so long, and he probably should have given them up, but Milah didn't have any family left. Her estranged husband had been the reason she joined up in the first place, desperate to get away from him. It would have been a stain on her memory to return the tags to him, which only left Killian.

Whatever she thought of him, he knew he'd never let anything happen to Emma, not if it was in his power. His protective instinct had developed over the months he saw her at Gold's, and it didn't matter in the end that she wasn't eighteen and trapped. The same hard look lived in her eyes, and maybe Emma didn't need protecting from the world, but he wanted to do it anyway.

But could he blame her? He'd tried not to touch her more than…necessary…in that room, not to manhandle her. Bloody hell, did he wish he could forget that entire situation. He hadn't lied in the conference room – he _did_ find the whole thing damnably distasteful – but he hadn't told them everything.

His pride – or rather, the bruising of it – was a disgusting fact he kept trying to bury. He hated that nothing he tried made it even the slightest bit pleasurable for her, hated that he'd been annoyed for a split second when she reached for a bottle of lube. No woman he'd ever been with had needed such assistance, and it stung that she had.

All of which was incredibly selfish and irrational. Much like the other thought he kept trying to forget – what would it be like to be with her as themselves, to be in bed together because they actually wanted to be?

 _She wouldn't even let you touch her hand._

Scrubbing his palm over his face, he drank down the last of the rum bottle as he returned to the couch, the burn of alcohol not nearly punishment enough. But it did its job, and by the time he blinked his eyes open, it was morning.

Groaning as he moved, Killian rubbed the stiffness from his neck. He really should sleep in his bed more often, but the nightmares seemed to follow him between the sheets. Lurching to his feet, he went in search of coffee and a way to pass his day, since David had decided to give him a few days holiday before they got back into it.

He'd tried to refuse. He wanted to work, to stay busy, but David had sent him home with a firm shake of his head. "You've been under for months. Go home and remember how to be yourself again," was the last thing he'd said before all but pushing Killian out the door.

Idleness did not suit him.

He spent the day prowling the streets and keeping a low profile. He wasn't stupid enough to think David was wrong about his cover being blown. If he did speak, he didn't say much and it was with an American accent, hood pulled over his head and sunglasses crammed over his nose.

No one said a word about Gold, not even so much as a rumor to his whereabouts. The bugger had disappeared as if by some dark portal to whatever hellish pit he wheeled and dealed from.

Frustrated and exhausted, Killian went back over every case file in his possession from home, ignoring calls from David and Belle alike. He didn't want to talk to his boss, and Belle… He was damn relieved Rose was safe, but he couldn't look at the girl without frustration surging through his veins.

Aye, she was safe now, but she never should have been put in that situation. Killian should have stopped it, seen it coming, protected her somehow. Belle's husband had been a thief for many years, and a talented one at that. Once Belle became pregnant with Rose, he'd retired and applied himself to an honest living, but his enemies hadn't moved on so easily. Taking Rose was revenge for an old slight.

Killian hated to think what Gold would deem suitable retribution next.

He was relieved when Monday morning arrived, pleased to be back at work. He didn't care if David demoted him down to traffic control for the day – he couldn't stay in his apartment another bloody minute feeling helpless and useless.

But he'd barely had the chance to say hello to his fellow detectives when David stuck his head out of his office, frowning. "Why are you here?"

"This is my place of employment, if I'm not mistaken."

"Very funny. I meant, why are you _here_? Did you listen to your messages? The FBI requested you for the duration of their investigation. If you had bothered to answer the phone, I would have told you that was the deal to get Internal Affairs off your ass."

"No, I…"

"Get over there, Jones. That Mills woman will be calling any moment, demanding to know where you are."

Retiring any hope of a calm day, Killian groaned and turned back out the door. Doing an awkward half-run half-walk the eight blocks to the FBI's Boston office, he took a moment on the sidewalk to catch his breath and stare. He'd worked in Boston long enough to have passed Center Plaza dozens of times, but he'd never been inside the massive complex outside of the one rather tense afternoon a few days ago. The giant plate glass windows caught the sunlight, reflecting back at him with nearly blinding intensity, reminding him why he was there.

Emma was waiting in the lobby, her arms folded across her chest and an annoyed scowl on her face. She was dressed the part today, slim black pants and a black shirt under a blazer, hair neatly braided.

He missed the red leather jacket.

"You're late." She stood as he approached, tossing her braid over her shoulder. "I've been waiting twenty minutes. So much for punctual."

"I apologize." He smiled, hoping to find a measure of the warmth he knew she possessed, but her icy stare made it clear she wasn't having it. "It shan't happen again."

"Good." She led him through the building and up the elevator to a security desk, and by the end of a flurry of paperwork, he was issued his very own ID badge. He smirked as he clipped it onto his belt loop, hoping Emma's temper may have cooled. "So if I'm a fed now, does that mean I get to use the FBI's toys, too?" He kept his tone light, hoping to draw a smile from her at the least.

"You're a cop on loan." She rolled her eyes, gesturing down the hall with the same no-nonsense expression she'd worn all morning. "We set up in the conference room. Let's go."

She led him to the same room they'd met in previously, Regina and a few other agents he hadn't met already there. Mug shots were taped to a giant whiteboard, notes below each photo. Regina glared at him from her spot beside the board, marker in hand. "How gracious of you to join us," she said in greeting. "We've all been here for an hour."

"Security took forever," Emma cut in before he could say anything, not looking at him as she took a seat at the conference table. Puzzled, he stared after her, wondering why she bothered to cover for him when everything about her demeanor said _go to hell_.

When Emma didn't look up, he took the seat next to her, careful to keep enough distance between them that their legs wouldn't accidentally touch. "Thank you," he said quietly, watching her pick up a tablet and begin tapping away.

"We may have a lead," she said, ignoring his gratitude completely and sliding the tablet closer. "This guy–" She tapped the screen, a mug shot taking up one half while a grainy photo took up the other. "– is supposedly running heroin for Gold now. One of our CIs called it in. There's a delivery coming in tonight, and we think we can pick him up."

"Gold's men are usually too loyal to talk. Or terrified."

"Yes, but this one hasn't worked for Gold for long. Our CI says two weeks, tops. I think he's our way in. We get him to tell us where he was meeting Gold to deliver his cut and we're one step closer. We've checked all his usual places from the list we compiled the other day. Not a trace of him."

It seemed too easy. Killian scratched behind his ear, not wanting to argue with her, but not understanding how this could possibly work. "If he's only been around for two weeks, he likely doesn't know anything. It took me months to get a meet with Gold."

"Our theory is that since your cover was blown, Gold is going to be more paranoid and insist on meeting everyone he does business with personally, ensure there aren't more cops in his ranks."

Killian nodded, glancing around the room. These people knew what they were about. If this theory was plausible to them, then he would run it down. "All right. What's our move?"

"You and I will take point. The team moves in ahead of the meet to establish a perimeter. We'll choose a spot to watch from, see if maybe there's anyone else in the crew tonight we recognize. We wait for the deal to go down and pick everyone up on drug charges to hold them." She explained it calmly, all business, but never once looked him in the eye. "It should be straightforward."

"Aye," Killian agreed, an uneasy feeling churning in his stomach like rough seas. "What time is the meet?"

"Twenty-two hundred. We plan to be in position an hour ahead of time."

"And until then?"

Emma shrugged, pulling her tablet back in front of her and gesturing to the table full of files. "You're a cop. Investigate." She paused, finally picking her head up and looking at him, but her face was wiped clean of emotion. "Actually, it would be great if you could go on a coffee run."

"You wish for me to fetch you a coffee?"

"Oh, not just me." She smiled sweetly, handing him a list she'd kept hidden on the other side of the tablet. "All of us. Thanks, Jones."

Tempted to tell her to get her own buggering coffee, Killian took the list and a deep breath with it. Whatever game she was playing, he wasn't. If she wanted to get rid of him by assigning menial tasks, she would fail.

So he went to get the sodding coffee.

The day passed in a similar fashion. In between reading detailed reports of every and any case that had anything to do with Gold, Killian was sent out to pick up lunch and another round of coffee. Emma was coldly polite, stopping short of rude, but certainly far from friendly.

He bore it in front of her team, but as they drove across town alone in her car together, he'd had enough. "Swan, you'll need to talk to me for this to work."

"I've talked to you all day."

Killian resisted the urge to knock his head back into his seat, watching her profile as the streetlights cast shadows across her face. "You've made me your errand boy all day."

She shrugged. "You're the new guy. New guy gets coffee."

"I am not the new guy. I am here specifically to assist you with this investigation because of the knowledge I bring with me. I tolerated it today, but tomorrow, love, you get your own bloody coffee. You don't get to keep punishing me."

"Punishing you? It's not always about you, Killian."

"Look me in the eye and say that."

"Sort of in the middle of driving here."

He laughed without humor, nodding and staring out the window at the passing scenery. "I'll ask again when we stop, but I'm certain you'll have another excuse at the ready."

She was silent for the next several blocks, the neighborhood rapidly deteriorating as they neared the location of the meet. "What do you want from me?" she finally asked, a measure of humanity finally slipping past the cold statue she'd presented all day.

"Trust. It's the same thing I've wanted all along."

"Right, by trying to trick me into it with sex."

"And we're back to that again." Killian ground his teeth, pressing his knuckles into his thighs to keep his hands occupied. "It wasn't a trick, Swan. I have no desire to _trick_ you, and you're much too intelligent to fall for it. When I win your trust – and I will win it – it will be because you want to trust me, not because of some bloody con."

"Let's just get through tonight."

"Aye."

Silence grew between them once more, tension simmering away that had nothing to do with the adrenaline of a dangerous situation. Emma Swan was possibly the most frustrating woman he'd ever met, but damn him if she didn't spark a curiosity he hadn't felt in a long, long time.

But whatever glimpse of herself she'd allowed out was firmly put away by the time they parked and killed the engine. Emma's cell phone lit up almost instantly, and she put it on speakerphone as her team set up around them.

Killian was no stranger to tactical operations, but he had to admire the smoothness of Emma's directions and the way her team handled everything. There was no second-guessing, no half measures. Emotions aside, if he did have to place his life into her hands, they were quite capable.

Something tugged in his chest, protesting he wanted more than capable.

"Killian and I will maintain our position until we have confirmation, then we move in. Switching to radio from here." Emma ended the call, leaning back into her seat and closing her eyes while she breathed out.

He watched her, the gleam of her pale skin in the faint glow from the light on the corner, the neat braid that nearly brushed her cheek where it fell across her neck and chest. Her hair had been soft under his fingertips, spun gold in the midst of so much despair.

"You're staring," she said without opening her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. "I can feel it."

"You make a more attractive subject than the rubbish bins, love."

Her eyes snapped open, eyebrows knit together in a deep frown that almost covered the flash of panic. "Seriously? You're hitting on me?"

The venom in her voice surprised him, and he sighed, holding her stare. "I was simply seeking to lighten the mood. You're quite tense."

"I'm focused."

"Aye, the closed eyes did display a remarkable focus. Do tell me how that works."

He expected her to fling another barb back, but to his bafflement, she laughed. It was little more than a quiet chuckle, but her shoulders lost some of their tension, and she actually looked at him with a trace of warmth in her expression. "I guess you got me there."

He smiled back, toying with the ring on his thumb and glancing at the dash clock. Forty-five minutes until showtime, and all was quiet. It was as good a time as any to mend fences.

"I apologize for my reaction to your questions at the diner," he said after a long pause, carefully watching her expression. "I wish you had merely asked to begin with, but we're past that now, I suppose."

"Does that mean you're going to tell me?"

He sighed, tracing a scar along the top of his right hand. He'd met Milah at the Naval Academy, both of them so young. She'd nicked him while training with knives, and when it healed, she had had a habit of kissing the scar. He couldn't look at it without remembering her, and the memories still smarted. "Perhaps one day. This is hardly the forum to spill one's darkest memories. Something else you'd like to know?"

To his relief, she nodded, her eyes softening. "The accent – London by way of Georgia? Your file said you were born in London, but you don't sound like you're from there. Or not only there."

"Aye, that's what happens when you spend fifteen years running with the lot I did. Uncle Sam recruits quite heavily in the south, but I suppose you know that." She nodded again, a hint of irritation in her features. He hadn't spent much time around Emma yet, but his money was on her being annoyed she hadn't sorted that for herself.

"My mum was in theatre in London. Nothing too posh, certainly not the West End, but she made a decent go of it," he continued, smiling at the few happy memories, the evenings spent running around backstage amidst sets and costumes, pilfering prop swords to do battle with Liam. They were some of his fondest memories, even if they did come to a sudden, agonizing halt. "She passed when I was small. Cancer. She was originally from New York, and my father thought it best we return. Perhaps he thought there was a piece of her left in the city." He shrugged, scouring the neighborhood for any sign of movement. He'd said more than he meant to, and he didn't wish to see pity on Emma's face.

A tentative hand on his leather-clad arm drew his attention back to her, but there was no pity waiting in her eyes. Something else shone in the dim light, something kindred. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, squeezing her hand before pulling back, staring out the windscreen. "I never had a mother, but I'm guessing it really sucks to lose one."

"Never?"

She nodded, adjusting her vest. "Yeah. I was all of two weeks old when my parents left me in front of a firehouse." She said it matter-of-factly, but an orphan heard the sorrows others would miss. He wanted to offer her comfort, take her hand as she'd squeezed his arm, but the memory of her recoil in the diner was too fresh.

"That's terrible," he said instead, looking away again in an effort to give her a bit of privacy with her memories. He hadn't wanted to talk about Milah for the pain it brought, but somehow here they were, ripping open even older wounds instead.

"I moved around too much to have friends, for the most part. But I was in a group home when I was a teenager, and there was this girl, Lily. She had parents, but they used to make her volunteer with the younger kids. We became friends." Her voice caught, but when she spoke again, the careful control was back in place. "I don't know if it was Gold or someone else, but Lily went to a party one night. I told her not to go, that it seemed like it was a bad idea, but she was so determined to be free. She said her parents were always trying to stop her from living her life, and she couldn't stand it. So she went to the party, and three months later, they found her behind a dumpster."

"Bloody hell. I'm so sorry, love."

"I didn't tell you for your sympathy. I want you to understand why this is so important to me. You had your friend's kid to save, and she's safe now. So I don't know what that means for you and your motivations to get Gold. But I'm pretty sure he killed my friend, and I'm pretty sure he's killed more girls just like her. I need to stop him." Anger made her eyes burn bright, her voice tight and low. "So don't get in my way."

"I haven't any intentions of getting in your way." He twisted in his seat, facing her. "Rose wasn't the only one with a mum. All those girls have mothers. It needs to end." Unable to stop himself anymore, he reached across the seat slowly, giving her time to pull her hand off the steering wheel before he took it, but she didn't. Her skin was cold, and he squeezed her fingers in his warm ones, begging her to believe him. "I'm on your side, Emma. I want the bastard to pay, too."

"I know." It was barely a whisper, her voice as soft as he'd ever heard it. She looked like she wanted to say more, her lips parting and her hand in his, but then her eyes went hard and she yanked her hand back. "He's here."

"They're early." Killian followed her gaze into the gloom, a black van pulling into the parking lot. He slid his gun from its holster, the metal cool against his palm. "Gold was never early for any deal I ran with him."

"New guy might want to impress the boss." She didn't sound worried, but Killian noticed she too slipped her gun free, fingers curling around the metal and body tense. "Hold your position," she said into the radio, watching the van for any sign of movement.

It was a tense fifteen minutes of silence, the van idling but no sign of the driver or his contact. Killian glanced at the clock, realizing it was now past the time of the meet, according to the CI. "Perhaps he was tipped off?"

"Maybe," Emma muttered, glancing down at her phone as a text came in. Killian saw Regina's name, and leaned closer to read the rest. It was in that moment a dark black sedan came screeching into the parking lot, not even slowing as shots were fired into the van.

"What the hell?" She was already throwing the car into gear, the night erupting around them in blue and red flashing lights as she floored it after the sedan, all the while furiously talking into the radio.

She was terrifying and impressive at the same time, expertly guiding the car through what little traffic there was, closing in on the sedan – until the windscreen exploded in a rain of safety glass halfway down an alley, a bullet embedded in the headrest inches from Emma's temple. Another shot exploded into the night, and the car jerked violently to the right as the front tire deflated, screeching tires echoing around them.

"Dammit!" She hit the steering wheel with her palms, breathing heavily as the car skidded to a stop and the sedan disappeared from view. "We almost had them. Where the hell did that asshole even come from?"

"No bloody idea." Killian brushed glass from his lap, scanning the surrounding area. "We need to get out of here. Too exposed."

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm missing a goddamn windshield."

"Sod the car. Are you injured? Can you walk?" He resisted the urge to reach for her, to check for himself that the bullets had missed and she was fine. Emma wouldn't take kindly to a pat down, certainly not from him.

"I'm fine!" she snapped, her usual impatience flooding every word.

"Then let's go." Killian's adrenaline was up, his heart racing, but everything around him seemed to be moving in slow motion. His thoughts tunneled down to a singular goal – get Emma the bloody hell out of the car and somewhere safe. "Now, Swan."

He didn't care if she protested this time. The second they were out, he yanked her into his side, hugging the shadows of the alley wall. The brick was cold even through his coat, but Emma was a bundle of heat in his arms. "They blew out the tire and knew we'd be sitting ducks. We have to move," he said in her ear, speaking quietly and ignoring the scent of her skin. "Gold's men don't think twice about killing cops."

"But I'm not a cop."

"I don't think he'll mind." Killian wasn't in the mood for jokes, checking his gun to make sure none of the broken glass had gotten into places it shouldn't. "How far away is your team?"

"Two blocks east."

He nodded, gesturing down the alley. The military had trained him well, but he had to respect Emma's training as she darted ahead, keeping low and constantly moving. Her steps were nearly silent on the pavement, the light occasionally glinting off the metal of the gun in her hand. He didn't take his eyes off her until a familiar van of their own opened its doors, quickly pulling the two of them in before speeding back toward the field office.

Ruby Lucas and Graham Humbert stared at them, questions all over their faces. Emma scowled at her fellow agents, picking bits of glass out of her braid and angrily tossing them to the floor of the van where they landed with quiet _chinks_. "He knew we were going to be there. Somehow he knew."

"It was my CI. I'll see what I can find out." Ruby scooted closer, taking over the task of picking safety glass fragments from Emma's braid. "We checked the van, but the driver was dead. Graham got a shot of the sedan driver's face. You recognize him?"

The other agent held out his cell phone, zoomed in on a shadowy face. Killian growled in frustration, shaking his head. Emma did the same, all but throwing the phone back at Graham. "I don't know who he is. Dammit!"

"We'll try again, Emma." Graham reached over, patting Emma's thigh and squeezing it with a gentle smile. Killian looked away, irritation at the scene making his fists clench in his pockets.

It took him a minute to connect the dots.

 _You're jealous? You've just been bloody shot at and you're jealous of her sodding coworker. They've worked together for years. You are being utterly preposterous. You did your job. You got her out of that car before Gold's underlings came back for her. She's safe. That was your part. She doesn't want comfort from you._

Killian closed his eyes, leaning back against the side of the van as they barreled through the streets. He didn't want to be jealous, didn't want to see Emma's easy interactions with Graham. He had no right to want that with her, and it was never going to happen. He'd be lucky if they managed a cordial working relationship.

But somehow, in spite of all of that, logic couldn't pluck out the tiny shard of hope buried in his chest.


	5. Chapter 5

Emma banged her fist against Killian's door, waiting all of five seconds before knocking again. The door flew open, and there he stood, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants with a gun in his hand. "Bloody hell, Swan, with the racket you're making I assumed someone was dying." He loosened his grip on the gun, lowering it and leaning into the doorframe with a weary hand on the back of his neck. " _Is_ someone dying?" he asked, almost as an afterthought, one ankle crossed over the other.

"Somewhere in this city, I'm sure someone is dying, yes." She didn't mean to be quite so cavalier, but she found herself unexpectedly flustered at the sight of him half-naked and rumpled, his hair sticking out and his stubble dark. She should have called before just showing up at his apartment, but she'd been too excited about the prospect of a lead to think about that.

"But that's not why you've deposited yourself on my doorstep at this hour," Killian prompted her once the silence grew awkward, one eyebrow raised in question with the start of a teasing smile playing at the edge of his mouth.

"No."

"Well, come in then. Can't have the neighbors calling the cops on us."

"We are the cops," she mumbled as she passed, noting the muted TV and bottle of liquor on the coffee table. "Am I interrupting?" It was late, and they'd spent the last two weeks working long hours. Dead end after dead end had only added to the exhaustion. If Killian was finally getting some rest, she had no business bothering him.

"Not at all." He set the gun down beside the bottle and shut off the TV, turning to face her with what she could only call hopeful curiosity. "What can I do for you, Swan?"

 _Put on a shirt before answering the door for once?_

Blowing out a breath, she curled her fingers around her hips to keep her hands busy. Too many thoughts of the same variety had cropped up over the last two weeks, inappropriate thoughts, and she was having none of it. It was one thing to settle into a working relationship, but anything more was out of the question for so many reasons – the night they'd met chief among them.

What she did or didn't feel in the adrenaline-soaked aftermath of their car chase and subsequent retreat also didn't matter one bit. Anything she'd felt watching him through lowered lashes was a byproduct of a basic hormonal reaction to his protection of her, the closeness of their bodies causing every sense to fire to life.

 _None_ of that changed the impossibility of it all.

Shaking herself out of her inappropriate thoughts, Emma refocused on the task at hand. "We might have caught a break. One of Gold's girls got loose. Ruby is with her now. They're going to bring her to a safe house and let her get cleaned up tonight. I think she's one that was there when I was…when we were."

"You think she may be more willing to speak to one of us? Familiar face and all that?"

Emma nodded, careful to keep her eyes on his face. She'd seen him without a shirt several times now, at Gold's and in his apartment, once coming out of the FBI gym with Graham. There was nothing between them and no reason to be bothered by it.

Except _bothered_ wasn't quite the right word. And there was a world of difference between him standing in front of her, stubborn and unyielding, and the inviting warmth of his home in the small hours of the night.

Killian frowned, crossing his arms over his chest, biceps flexing with the movement. "I can see the lass perhaps trusting you, but me? I wasn't there to make friends, Swan." A hint of regret flickered across his features, the apology that seemed to hang in the air between them making another appearance.

"No, but maybe once she realizes you're a cop, and you were there trying to help, she'll talk." Emma sighed, her own weariness making her back ache and a dull throb pound behind her eyes. "I thought if we went together, presented a united front?"

They'd gotten better at that over the last two weeks, learning to be around each other. Not exactly friends, and trust might be going a bit far, but Emma remembered every moment of the night in the alley. Killian hadn't hesitated to take control of the situation, to ensure she was safe, and though she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, it had been…nice. A turning point of sorts, anyway. She wasn't prepared to tell him her secrets, but she trusted him to have her back, and that counted for something.

"Of course, love. Give me a few moments to clean up and we can go straight away."

"We can't, actually." She rubbed her eyes, blotting out another view of his muscled shoulders and lean waist before he turned to face her again. "Ruby asked that we wait until morning, give the girl a chance to calm down."

Killian hesitated, and that was when Emma realized what an idiot she was. Rather than text to tell him the plan for the morning, she'd barged into his apartment like the sky was falling in the middle of the night – only to tell him information they couldn't act on right away.

And now he had to be wondering exactly the same thing she was – why the hell hadn't she just called or texted him at this god awful hour? Why was she _there_?

"I'm just going to…go," she finally said, turning for the door and ignoring the heat creeping into her cheeks. "Sorry for bothering you."

"It's no bother. I don't sleep much. You're welcome to stay for a bit if you like. Perhaps we could sort out our approach for tomorrow?" He wore a tentative smile when she pivoted back toward him, his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. He was obviously going for casual with his posture, but the movement only pulled the waistband an inch lower on his hips, drawing attention to the dark strip of hair that disappeared beneath the fabric.

Emma struggled not to allow a reaction, shifting her weight from foot to foot, regarding him in silence. He liked to joke with her, his comments often verging on flirtatious, and he'd grown bolder as the weeks had gone on. The ugliness between them was the elephant in the room, but if she was determined to forget it with indifference, he was determined to charm her into forgiveness.

And damn him, because it was working. It didn't help that the harder it became to hold onto her anger, the more she remembered that moment between them – the one where she had wondered just what it could have been were they in different circumstances. The moment where for thirty seconds she had forgotten where she was and who he was – and then he'd stopped and reality had come screaming back.

Just as it did when she started to consider the possibility of something more.

"Emma? Are you all right?" He had moved closer while she was lost in thought, one hand reaching out as if he wanted to touch her, but it fell to his side the moment their eyes met. His swam with concern, eyebrows knit together. "Have you been getting any rest, love?"

"I…no, not really. But I'm fine. Part of the job, right?" She forced a cheerful smile, and his frown only deepened.

"You don't have to do that with me, you know." He dragged a hand through his hair, his jaw tightening as he watched her.

"Do what?"

"The fake smile. I despise that smile." His voice dropped into a low rumble, frustration trickling into the words. Frustration and self-loathing Emma couldn't place until he continued, "It brings to mind when you…" He stopped short, backing away from her with his eyes on the floor. "I just wish you wouldn't," he added after a pause, his voice quiet though he still refused to look at her.

Heart pounding, Emma took a deep breath, glancing down at her phone. A text from Ruby confirmed they were settled for the night, and Emma should come by around eight. "I'll pick you up at seven-thirty tomorrow," she said, ignoring everything else, especially the genuineness of his concern. "I have to go. It's late," she added unnecessarily, making a show of checking the time.

"Will you be all right? I could drive you back."

"You've been drinking."

"Hadn't actually started yet."

"You're offering to drive me home? How do you plan on getting back here?"

He shrugged. "A cab, the T, Uber," he replied with forced casualness.

"Why would you do that?"

"You're so knackered you can barely stand in my living room. If I thought you might accept, I would offer you my bed. I sleep on the couch most nights, anyway." The words dragged out the memory of the blanket on the couch the first time she'd been in his apartment, the curiosity as to why he wasn't sleeping in his bed in the first place.

And it was almost tempting, to shuffle a few feet into his bedroom and collapse into soft sheets. Adrenaline had kept her moving with Ruby's news, a need to tell Killian right away that they might be getting somewhere driving her to his door. But now there was nothing to do but wait, and she was found she was crushingly exhausted.

But there was no way she could accept. It was bad enough, his completely sincere offer to drive her home, never mind sleeping in his bed. Would the sheets smell like him? Could she even tolerate the scent of his skin, or would it send her right back into that room where he was Charles Ellis and she was fighting to maintain a shred of her dignity?

"I'm fine, really," she heard herself say, turning toward his door and tugging her coat closer around herself. "I'll see you in a few hours."

She left before he could say anything else, but he had already texted her before she made it to the car. _Let me know when you've made it home, please._ She rolled her eyes, tossing her phone into the cup holder and shoving the key in the ignition.

But she sent the text when she got home anyway. He replied instantly, his simple _thank you_ sticking with her as she crawled into bed.

Her dreams were filled with Killian, and though that wasn't entirely new, these were different. He wasn't standing silently at her side, watching as she was beaten, and he wasn't a figure lurking in the background. This time, they were in his apartment, and she was in his bed, and there was nothing distasteful about it.

 _Never going to happen_ , she told herself, ignoring the ache between her legs as she forced herself out of bed in the early morning light. _Even if…after everything, could you stand to let him touch you like that?_ The dream was one thing – dream Emma didn't seem to remember the last time Killian had her on her back – but real Emma did.

Real Emma also had the ability to look back on the situation, and now that she knew him better, hindsight exposed the moments Killian had peeked through his undercover persona, the soft questions and gentle touches that hadn't quite fit with Charles Ellis and his sneers.

But none of that mattered, either. They had a job to do, and when it was over, he would go back to BPD, and she would have a new assignment. Boston was a big city. She would never see him again.

Still, she couldn't quite make eye contact when she picked him up, handing him a coffee and staring out at the street. "Don't get used to it," she said as she handed him the cardboard cup, careful not to let their fingers brush. "Consider this my apology for showing up so late last night." _And not a guilt gift because I dreamt things about you I have no business dreaming._

"No apology necessary, but I do appreciate the coffee."

"You're welcome," she said, hating how stiff her voice sounded even to herself as she pulled back into traffic without looking at him. "It's about twenty minutes away, maybe thirty. Ruby texted earlier to say Ashley seems to be doing better this morning."

"Do you still wish to meet with the lass together?"

"Yes."

"Everything all right, love?" he asked after a pause. From the corner of her eye, she noticed he had shifted to study her. "I get the impression there's something you're not telling me."

 _I dreamt about us having sex, and it was good. It was really good. And now I don't know how the hell I'm supposed to look you in the eye. Or what to do with it. Because whatever the hell happened between us that night was terrible, but now I'm curious, and I shouldn't be, but damn it, I am._

Shaking her head to banish her rambling thoughts, Emma replied, "Just tired." She caught herself before she flashed the fake smile, tightening her grip on the steering wheel. She didn't need a repeat of his speech last night, his hatred of the equally fake smile stemming from that bedroom she didn't want to think about. "I don't want to put too much pressure on Ashley, but I hope she knows something. Maybe she can tell us where she was held, or something about who Gold is running with now that you're out. Anything."

"Did you spend much time with the other girls when…when you were undercover?" The question seemed to make him uncomfortable, the leather of his jacket rustling as he shifted his weight.

"Rarely. Gold kept me separated a lot of the time, at his side like a damned trophy. Which was good for the investigation. He thought I was stupid and talked pretty freely in front of me. But I didn't see much of the other girls. I didn't even know Rose was there that day."

Killian nodded, sipping his coffee. His jaw tight, he remained silent as Emma made her way across the rest of the city. After two weeks of working together, the silence didn't bother her. She liked that about him, frankly – the man knew when to shut up.

The safe house was in reality a condo in a high rise, and a nice one at that. Killian raised an eyebrow at her as she pulled into the underground garage and parked. "Nice to see taxpayer dollars hard at work."

She laughed quietly, pocketing the keys and getting out of the car. It had become a running joke between them – the FBI had a bigger budget and had better equipment than BPD. Killian enjoyed teasing her about it, and since it brought a measure of levity to what could be a downright depressing job, she didn't bother to try to stop him.

"If you're done, let's go." Reaching into the backseat, she grabbed the box of pastries from the bakery around the block from her apartment, hoping to soothe the girl with sugar.

"Swan, you shouldn't have." Killian grinned as he reached for the box, his tongue slipping along his bottom lip. "Sweet tooth, remember?"

"Oh, you think these are for you?" Emma laughed, yanking her hand back before he could inspect the contents. "Hands off, buddy. You can grab one when we leave."

Ignoring Killian's wheedling, she led him into the building and off the elevator onto the tenth floor into a nondescript hallway. She didn't knock, pulling out her phone to text Ruby, who opened the door almost immediately upon their arrival.

"Oh, thank god, food," she said in greeting, snatching the box from Emma's hands and ushering them in with a suspicious scan of the hallway.

"The bear claw is mine, but yes, I brought donuts." She grinned at Ruby's enthusiasm before the situation stole away the small measure of lightness. "How is Ashley?" Emma asked in a low voice, tugging Killian's arm to move him out of the way so they could close the door. His eyebrows shot up at her touch, and she let go at once, taking a step away and shoving her hands in her pockets.

Ruby sighed, fiddling with her sleeves. She'd rolled them to her elbows, but after a long night, they were starting to unravel as she set the pastry box down. The woman looked like she'd barely slept, her dark hair messy and her trademark lipstick long since worn off. "She was up most of the night. Bad nightmares. She's in the shower now. I told her some other agents were coming by, but I didn't tell her it was you two. Hopefully she doesn't freak out."

"Has a doctor had a look at her?" Beside her, Emma felt Killian tense at the question. Despite the foot of space she'd put between them, he was once again so close she could smell his soap.

Ruby's eyes darkened as she gave a sharp nod. "Signs of sexual assault, a bunch of bruises, a healed fracture to one of her ribs. It's what we would expect but…" She turned away, walking to the window overlooking the river, the set of her shoulders rigid. "I'm sure you know how it is."

"Yes." Emma kept her answer professional, in spite of the memories racing to the surface – curling into a ball, trying to protect her head, Gold's cane smashing against her wrist, and trying desperately not to scream because that just made him angrier. That had been bad enough, and sometimes she wondered if she only survived it whole because she knew it was temporary. These girls didn't have that – most were convinced they would be under Gold's control until he ended their miserable lives.

Behind her, Killian made a strangled sound, but he only shook his head when she turned to look at him in question. Black rage stormed his eyes, his jaw tight and his fists clenched. _He's probably thinking about Rose,_ she realized, her eyes darting toward the closed bathroom door. _I shouldn't have brought him._

Stepping closer, she laid her hand on his arm, squeezing gently. She couldn't blame him for his reactions. Even after years of working with trafficking victims, there were still cases that got under her skin, and as far as she knew, this was Killian's first time. "I know this is personal for you, with Rose, but you've got to calm down before we talk to Ashley. You'll scare her like this."

"Rose? She's…" He trailed off without finishing his thought, anger banked behind cool blue embers when he met her eyes, a secret lurking in his tone. "Aye, you're right, Swan. I apologize."

"You've worked intelligence since you joined BPD?" Emma asked in confirmation, guiding him back to the task at hand. Between his tours and the intelligence unit, he must have been in worse situations than talking to a victim in a safe house. He'd gotten through it, and he'd get through this.

"Mostly."

"The kids are the worst part of this job. If it doesn't get to you, you're not human." He nodded, his hand rising to tentatively settle over hers where it still rested on his arm. His skin was warm and instantly brought the dream back to the forefront of her thoughts.

The sound of the water shutting off gave her the excuse she needed to back off, taking a seat on the sofa in the small living room. When Killian began to pace, she patted the seat next to her. "Sit down, please. You're making me anxious with the pacing, never mind what Ashley will think."

"Apologies," he muttered, sinking down next to her. Emma saw Ruby's raised brow but chose to ignore it. Maybe she should have thought about Rose before bringing Killian along, but he was a good cop. He could separate his personal feelings from the work that needed to be done.

Ruby shot her one more look before moving down the hall to the bathroom door. She knocked softly, her voice gentle. "Ashley, those agents are here. Emma brought donuts, and they're the good ones."

Emma couldn't hear the girl's reply, but Ruby seemed satisfied, returning to the living room and opening the box. She pulled out a glazed donut for herself, licking her fingers as she devoured it in a few bites.

"Did you forget to eat again?" Emma asked Ruby with a smirk, pushing the box toward Killian.

"I'm not hungry," he said quietly, his expression closed off. She frowned, tempted to remind him he had wanted one of the pastries not ten minutes ago.

Figuring she would do a lot of the talking, Emma left the bear claw in the box, resting her hands on her thighs in as non-threatening of a pose as she could manage. Her gun was concealed beneath her jacket, and to her relief, so was Killian's. Ruby wore hers openly, but Emma figured Ashley was probably used to that.

Her heart nearly broke when the girl finally emerged, her hair a shade of blonde not so different from Emma's and hanging in damp strands around her shoulders. She walked with the same sort of hesitant gait Emma knew so well from other girls, as though every step she took might land her a beating. Fighting her instinct to go to the girl, Emma kept her seat, letting Ashley come to them.

"Hi Ashley," she said gently, smiling in encouragement. "I'm Special Agent Emma Swan. This is Detective Killian Jones from the police department. We're hoping maybe you can help us."

Ashley began to nod, but when her eyes landed on Killian, she froze. "You…" she whispered, backing away until she was pressed to the wall. "You're not a cop!" Her voice high with terror, she turned to Ruby with wide eyes, clawing at the wall behind her. "He's not a cop! He's one of Gold's! Charles Ellis! He runs drugs and…"

"It's all right, Ashley." Ruby was out of her seat and at the girl's side in an instant, glancing over her shoulder at Emma as she moved. _Do something_ , she mouthed before turning her attention back to the distraught girl.

"Killian is a detective," Emma tried again, holding her hands up to show they were empty. "He was working undercover. He's trying to stop Gold."

"It's all right, Emma. I suspected my presence may not help. I'll wait outside." Killian kept his back to the wall, edging away from them with his hands held out. He was gone before she could stop him, looking for all the world like he was about to throw up.

The door closed with a soft _snick_ behind him, and Ashley's hysteria faded, her tear-stained cheeks pale, but she stopped clawing at the wall. "You were there too," she said between gasps of air, her voice still choked. "You were his…his..."

Emma forced her face to remain neutral, fighting her own wince. "I was undercover as well. I'm an FBI agent, Ashley. I've been trying to take Gold down for a long time. Will you help me?"

"Did he…did you…he made me have sex with him, but he couldn't…and he was so angry…" Ashley babbled on, lost in her own hysteria, and Emma swallowed her frustration. She felt for the girl, knew the hell she'd been through. Ashley would spend years in therapy dealing with what happened to her, but Emma needed answers now to save all the other girls just like her.

"Ashley, can you tell me how you got away? Is there anything you remember about where you were held?" She kept her voice soft and encouraging, hoping to coax useful information from the traumatized girl.

"He drugged me. He did it all the time, said it made me _bearable_ , when he…but he gave me too much, and I was throwing up, and he left me by myself to go get Whale. You remember Dr. Whale? I thought he was nice at first too, but he…" Ashley's voice broke, her knees giving out as she sank to the floor, Ruby kneeling beside her.

Emma took a deep breath, rising slowly and squatting down next to the hysterical girl. "I know this is hard. How did you get away, Ashley?"

"I don't remember all of it. I think I crawled over to the window, and there was a fire escape. I somehow dragged myself onto it and then down. I fell, hurt my leg. I covered myself in trash bags in the alley so they wouldn't find me. I thought I was going to die, and I just didn't want to die with him there. The next thing I knew, I was in an ambulance."

"Do we know where the EMTs picked her up?" Emma asked Ruby, struggling to keep it together. She had been on the receiving end of Gold's beatings and Whale's treatments enough times herself, and she didn't want to relive it anymore than this girl.

Ruby nodded, smoothing Ashley's hair down as she sniffled. "Regina sent a team last night. They were already gone."

"Dammit!" Emma gritted her teeth, slumping back against the wall. She took a deep breath, knowing outbursts weren't going to help. "Ashley, you did good. You got away and you're alive. That's important. Are there any other details you remember? Faces? Anyone new hanging around?"

The girl shook her head, her eyes bloodshot and her nose red. "After you…after the cops came that day and took Rose and some of the others, he got worse. He kept us all separated. He didn't even bring us to parties to…to work." She squeezed her eyes shut, clinging to Ruby. "I don't want to talk about it anymore. Please, don't make me talk about it."

Emma nodded to Ruby over the girl's shoulder, biting back her frustration and simmering anger. It wasn't Ashley's fault – the girl had survived, and that was important – but she had hoped they would learn more from her. That it wouldn't be another dead end and broken teenager.

"Ashley, I'm going to leave my card with Ruby, okay? If you remember anything, no matter how small it may seem, tell Ruby or call me. We want to stop him from doing this to anyone else." Ruby mouthed _thank you_ , but Ashley didn't even seem to hear a word Emma had said. With a sigh, she rose to leave her card on the coffee table, her stomach churning at the sight of the donuts.

She left the bear claw in the box.

Killian wasn't waiting in the hallway, but before she could get her phone out of her pocket to call him, a metallic clang echoed from the stairwell. Checking the hallway before she moved, Emma edged toward the metal door, her back to the wall until she could peer through the small glass window.

Letting out the breath she'd been holding, Emma pushed the door open to find Killian cradling his hand, his eyes bright and his face red. He was pacing the small landing like a caged beast, barely looking up to acknowledge her.

"Do you know why she recognized me, Swan?" he asked without preamble, his voice ragged. Without waiting for her to reply, he went on, "He beat her in front of me once, I don't even recall what for. There was little I could do to stop it, but I foolishly attempted it anyway. Some bit about her not being worth the cleaning bill for the carpet, and the bastard _laughed_. I'll never forget the look in her eyes when I said it, but he stopped, and that was all I gave a damn about in that moment." He growled his frustration, slamming his palm against the wall. "She must think me the lowest of the low, a cop who just stood there while Gold beat her bloody, having a laugh about the sodding carpets. It makes me sick, the amount of times I stood there while…And for what? Just to save Rose? I love her, Emma, I love that lass like she were my own, but it was one life against so many others…"

"Killian, I…" The strength of his emotions nearly knocked the breath from her, the careful control she was so used to gone without a trace. He was falling apart before her very eyes, and she cursed herself for all the times she'd tried to blow him off over the last few weeks. The man cared, and he cared deeply – about his niece, but also about all the other girls being bought and sold like chattel.

"I wish him dead, Emma. Lord help me, I don't wish to arrest him, or give him a trial by a jury of his bloody peers. I want to murder him with my bare hands." Killian was breathing as though he'd just run up ten flights of stairs, and when she glanced down at the hand he was holding against his chest, his knuckles were bloody.

"I know." She took a tentative step closer, reaching for him until her hand landed on his wrist, gently examining his injured knuckles. "I get it, Killian, I do."

He laughed bitterly, glancing down at her while she prodded his skin, hissing in pain. "Aye, after what the bugger did to you, I imagine you do. How is it you can even stand to touch me, Emma? After what I…after what he…" He wrenched his hand away from her, shame in his eyes as he backed himself against the wall, putting distance between them.

"Because you are not Gold, Killian. You're a good man," she said firmly. She was surprised to find she meant it – if anything, the day's events had only proven it to her. It wasn't that she had thought he didn't care about these girls, but seeing him in this stairwell, his reaction to Ashley and every single moment they'd spent together in the last two weeks proved it to her.

But he went on as if he hadn't heard her. "Is this what Rose can look forward to? A lifetime of being afraid of any man who isn't her own father? Is she afraid of _me_ now? Bloody hell, Emma, I'm afraid of touching my own niece." His breathing ragged, he leaned back against the wall, his head connecting with the concrete hard enough to make Emma wince. "I'm afraid to touch you," he said so quietly she wasn't sure she was meant to hear.

There was nothing she could say in that moment, no words that would resonate with him, but words weren't her only weapon. She stepped closer, impulsively wrapping her arms around him in an awkward hug, mindful of his injured hand as he breathed in sharply in surprise. "I'm not scared of you." She laid her cheek against his chest, listened to his heart as it raced beneath her ear, his entire body tense against hers, and willed herself to relax. "It's all right, Killian. We got Rose out, and we'll get the other girls."

He hesitated, but then his arms came around her. Emma braced herself for a wave of uneasiness that never came, surprised to find his embrace comforting. He smelled of leather and spice, clean in a way he hadn't when he was Charles Ellis, and she finally relaxed into him, his chest solid and warm.

"How is it going to be all right? Every lead turns out to be a dead end. I sit next to you every day, and I see how strong you are, how determined you are to be okay, and I worry about the other girls. I worry about _you_ , Emma, you and Rose." His voice was rough with emotion, his arms tightening ever so slightly as he said her name. "Aye, you're a grown woman, and you don't need minding, but I… " He breathed out slowly, his breath tickling her ear as he seemed to run out of words.

"I'm fine. Nothing I couldn't handle," she mumbled into his chest when it became clear he wouldn't finish his thought. She should step back, her point proven, but to her surprise, she found she had no desire to move just yet.

" _How_ are you fine? He forced you to have sex with him. You could barely stand to look at me, and what happened between us…" Guilt made the words heavy, despair clinging to every syllable.

"He only tried once," Emma found herself saying without having made the decision to tell Killian the gory details. "He couldn't…perform. It made him angry, and he beat me within an inch of my life. I…I let him. I had to keep my cover. I don't know why he never tried it again, but other than the physical abuse, he never lay a hand on me again."

"Never?"

She shook her head against his chest, the clean cotton of his shirt soft against her cheek. She was grateful he couldn't see her flushed cheeks, embarrassment and shame heating her skin. "No. He…humiliated me, treated me like an animal at times, but he didn't force sex on me. Not with him, or anyone else."

"Until I came along." Killian was especially bitter as he said it, dropping his arms to his sides as though he'd been burned. She stepped back as he did so, the moment broken. "I can't apologize enough, Emma. Regina told you to trust me, but I wonder how you'll ever trust a man again, how you'll ever love without this…" He gestured vaguely around the stairwell. "I despise him for taking that from you."

"I do trust you, Killian. I trust you, and I trust Graham. I understand not all men are Gold. Rose will understand that too, in time." Emma hoped she was right, hoped Killian's niece would recover from her ordeal and go on to be happy and healthy. Gold hadn't had her that long – hadn't had the chance to fully break her. That wasn't much of a consolation to Killian, though, so she kept her mouth shut.

He also didn't need to know Emma still had nightmares that left her entire bed soaked in sweat, that sometimes, if he caught her off guard, even Graham's touch made her jump out of her skin.

"Have you ever been in love?" he asked abruptly, a note of despair in the words.

"I don't see what that has…"

"Because it's poisoned by this. Because you are beautiful and intelligent, and you deserve to love with your entire heart, not whatever pieces Gold left behind." He was frightening in his sincerity. Emma didn't want to consider why Killian might care about her ability to love, or the genuine compliments that had nothing to do with his not-so-subtle flirting. He was deadly serious in that moment, and it terrified her.

"I don't exactly have a lot of time for relationships, anyway," she said with a weak smile, desperate to steer the conversation to another topic. Emma's romantic past was not something she wanted to discuss with Killian of all people. Definitely not in this stairwell, and definitely not when she was having dreams about him. Naked dreams, at that.

He sighed, his expression saying he didn't buy it, but he didn't press the issue. "I suppose we're through here, then?"

Emma nodded, pulling her phone from her pocket to see if Regina had called with an update. There was no call, but there was a text, requesting they return to the office as soon as they were finished with Ashley. "Regina wants us. And someone needs to look at your hand. I hope it felt good, whatever you punched."

He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing the back of his neck wearily before reaching for the door to the hallway. "After you."

She didn't try to touch him again, uncertain as to whether it would even be welcome after the emotional gauntlet of their conversation in the stairwell. But she did stop at a gas station for ice, coming back out with a plastic bag full of it and firm instructions to hold it on his knuckles. He seemed like he wanted to argue, but he didn't, and Emma considered that a minor victory.

Still, they looked like hell by the time they deposited themselves in the chairs in front of Regina's desk. Killian slouched, shoulders slumped with the ice still on his hand, and Emma hunched forward, her knees on her elbows. "She didn't know anything," she told her boss unnecessarily, sighing and pressing against her temples. "It's another dead end."

Regina cleared her throat, and Emma looked up to find a grim expression on her boss's face. "There's something else?"

"Yes. Another girl has been found."

"Where is she? Can we talk to her?"

"Emma." It was Killian who spoke first, his hand tentatively reaching for hers. His eyes filled with crushing sorrow, he shook his head. "She said _found_."

"But…"

"When they went to sweep the warehouse near where Ashley was picked up by the EMTs, they discovered a body in the alley. The girl was dead when they arrived." Regina sighed, sliding a tablet across her desk. "Does this address mean anything to you?"

Emma picked up the tablet, starting at the street names and the red pin dropped in the middle of the mess. It took a second before her hands began to shake, irrational rage taking over.

It was the same block where they had found Lily all those years ago. She set the tablet down, placing it on Regina's desk with all the care of a ticking bomb, a fierce contrast to the rage swelling in her heart.

And walked out.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter length is starting to creep up. This is the longest one yet, and has some of my favorite scenes from the whole fic. Enjoy!

* * *

"Swan!"

Ignoring his protest, Emma kept walking, one controlled foot in front of the other. Her tight throat and burning eyes were a ticking time bomb. She couldn't be standing in the FBI office when it happened, couldn't let them see her fall apart. The circumstances didn't change that she was an FBI agent. She did not break down. Definitely not in her boss's office.

Definitely not in front of Killian Jones.

"Emma!"

She entered the stairwell, ignoring the elevator. Running down the stairs, her footfalls almost drowned out his above her, but the slam of the door as he rushed after her rang out like a gunshot. In a disconnected way, she almost found it funny they were in another stairwell, except this time she was the one about to come apart at the seams. A little voice asked her why she thought she was above it – didn't Killian trust her enough to show weakness not an hour ago? Didn't she owe him _her_ trust?

No, she didn't owe him anything. Trust was not a tit for tat arrangement.

"Bloody hell, would you please stop?" Killian nearly caught up to her as she barreled into the garage, but before she could open her mouth to respond, his hand curled around her wrist, tugging her back. The momentum drove her into his arms, and she shoved him away, desperate to escape his hold. He let go instantly, his palms held up in surrender. She tried not to see the hurt flash across his face before she turned back toward the car - and failed. _It doesn't matter_. She swallowed the inexplicable urge to let him fold her into his arms, to turn back and let him hold her up, if only for a moment.

But Killian followed, climbing into the passenger seat without another word, his face once again a careful mask free of anything but stubborn determination. Emma stared at him, willing her own features into a glacier and him out of the car. He only clicked his seatbelt into place. "You may talk or you may drive. Or both, if you like." By the set of his jaw, it was easier to drive than to argue.

Of course, he hadn't specified where she was to drive to.

Not trusting her voice, Emma drove in silence. He frowned when she pulled up to his building, twisting to face her. "Please talk to me." Killian's voice was gentle, imploring, but backed by a hint of steel she'd seen before. He wouldn't force her, but he wouldn't make it easy on her to keep matters to herself.

"Get out."

"No." The word was firm, but he drew in a shaky breath, reaching with his uninjured hand for hers. She jerked away, eyes on the road as she waited for him to give up. She _needed_ him to give up before she caved. "Please come in. I require your assistance with my hand."

It was a lie and she knew it. He was perfectly capable of wrapping some gauze around his split knuckles. In their line of work, she was positive he'd sustained much worse injuries. The fact that his hands and forearms were coated in dozens of small scars proved it. She turned to tell him so, but something in his expression stopped her – something broken and sad and all too familiar.

She parked and got out of the car, following him without a word. Emma still didn't trust herself to speak, not when a hot rush of tears lurked in her throat, just waiting for the gentle touch or kind word that surely would tip her over the edge. She would play along and bandage his hand, and then she would leave before he could expose her.

He fumbled his keys, and Emma impatiently snatched them from him, pushing his door open with her shoulder as she turned the handle. Not bothering to wait for him, she tossed his keys on the kitchen counter and made her way to the bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet to find disinfectant and bandages before returning to the living room.

"Really, love, I much prefer you yelling at me to this silence." He approached her slowly, taking the supplies from her hands and setting them down on the coffee table. His palm slid along her cheek, his fingers reaching into her hair, gently tilting her chin back to raise her eyes to his.

It took her a fraction of a second too long to pull away, and he noticed.

"Please, Emma." It was so soft it was nearly a whisper, and he reached for her again. This time, she didn't jerk away, but stared up at him, baffled as to how so much had passed between them in so short a time. Yesterday she wouldn't have let him touch her at all – today she had been the one to fling her arms around him, and now here they were again, inches apart in spite of her attempts to convince herself she needed to put space between them. "You're frightening me, love."

That was what did it, in the end. The confession rang true, and Emma didn't resist as he pulled her closer, her face pressed to his chest as the tears tumbled down her cheeks. "Lily, it's where they found Lily," she managed to get out, her fingers fisted in his shirt. "The exact same fucking spot, like he _knew_. He couldn't know, it's not possible, but god dammit, of all the alleys in this city…"

He didn't tell her it would be okay, or otherwise spout useless platitudes. He merely stroked a hand through her hair, offering his presence. It shouldn't have been a comfort, that particular man holding her like that, but it was.

When she pulled away from him, her throat was raw and her eyes burned, but the raging inferno of agony in her chest had calmed. Embarrassed, she muttered something about washing her face, locking herself in his bathroom and staring at her reflection. Red-rimmed, puffy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks awaited her.

Cursing her own weakness, Emma splashed cold water on her face, taking her time. Being in his arms for a second time in one day had felt too good for her to ignore completely, try as she might to shove the feeling aside. But all the stalling in the world couldn't change that she was in Killian's apartment, and he was on the other side of the door.

He was sitting on the couch when she emerged, gingerly dabbing disinfectant over his knuckles and hissing with pain. She sat down beside him, pushing his hand away and taking the cotton swabs from him. "Let me," she said, her voice hoarse but controlled once more.

"Thank you." Emma felt his stare on her as she bandaged his hand, slowly and methodically. "Quite the day it's been," he said once the silence between them had approached awkward, the words hesitant.

"Yeah."

"It seems we both had old wounds reopened." He chuckled, a dark undercurrent running through the sound as she taped the last piece of gauze in place, lifting his hand and turning it in front of his face. "If only they were all so easily stitched."

"Yeah." Emma gathered up the bloodied gauze, rising to deposit the entire mess in the trash. He was on his feet again when she turned around, blocking her exit as if he knew she intended to flee.

"I was…surprised, today. In the stairwell. And…earlier." He studied her, gesturing between them. "You're quite hard to get a read on sometimes."

Emma bit the inside of her cheek, frustration mounting. She didn't want to have this conversation. "What happened to open book?" she retorted, folding her arms over her chest as though that would hold her together, as though that would protect her from him and his inexplicable appeal.

"Only on occasion, it seems." His smile was strained, but he took a step closer anyway. She briefly considered reminding him of his opinion on forced smiles, but that would lead down a road she wanted no part of. "If you don't wish for me to touch you…"

Ashamed of herself for her hypocritical behavior, Emma relented. "It's okay." She forced herself to breathe slowly, focusing on drawing air in and out of her lungs as he stepped closer still. Breathe in – don't think about the scent of his skin when she was pressed to him; breathe out – don't think about the tempered strength of his arms around her. "I guess I surprised myself this morning, but it really doesn't bother me, anymore."

"Truly? Because in the car…"

"I haven't cried in years," she cut in, struggling to get it out before she lost her nerve. After making a mess of his shirt – she could still see the damp patch of fabric on his chest – she owed him that much. "All I wanted was to get home so I could fall apart in peace. You had other plans."

He frowned, his fingers twitching as though he wanted to reach for her again. "Do you know why it never occurred to me to banish you from that stairwell?" She opened her mouth to reply, but he cut her off before she could get a word out. "I knew you wouldn't go. It's not in your nature to walk away from someone in pain. Why you expect me to behave any differently, or accept less than you would, is a bloody mystery."

She stared at him, words failing her. "I…"

He waved her off, scratching behind his ear and glancing down at the floor. "Don't trouble yourself about it, Swan. I know you wish to go. I won't stop you."

"I should call Regina first." She took a deep breath, pulling out her phone and offering it to him. "I don't suppose you'd like to call for me?" she joked, hoping to lighten the heavy mood between them. Why it mattered, she couldn't say – just as she couldn't say why she didn't make her call from the hallway or her car. It had almost an hour since she had walked out. Another few minutes wasn't going to make a difference, and yet…

Killian shook his head, his lips curving into a small smile. "Not a chance, love."

The call wasn't as bad as she expected; Regina was strangely understanding about Emma's disappearing act at the office. She hung up with a sigh, shoving her phone in her pocket and pushing the heels of her hands into her eyes. "She said to take the afternoon to regroup."

"Aye, likely for the best." He didn't make another attempt to touch her, but the concern lingered in his eyes. "I know I said I wouldn't stop you, but allow me to ensure you have a proper lunch before you go?"

Emma hesitated, the naked hope on his face teetering on the edge of too much. She should leave, the day's events confusing enough when it came to exactly how Killian Jones fit into her life. But the sincerity of his offer was too much to refuse, so she nodded.

"Would pizza be acceptable?"

The only people she spent any time with who weren't criminals these days were her coworkers, and even then, between cases and odd hours, there wasn't a lot of time for socializing. Emma had nearly forgotten how to behave when it came to something as simple as agreeing on lunch. It didn't help that her cheeks were sure to still be blotchy, and every time she looked at Killian, she saw the evidence of her breakdown on his shirt. "Extra cheese?" she finally said, though it came out more of a question than she would have liked.

"Excellent choice, Swan." He grinned at her, pulling his phone out of his pocket and placing the order. "Thirty minutes," he said after he hung up, gesturing toward the couch and TV. "Netflix?"

It hadn't occurred to her that she would have to wait with him for the pizza to arrive, and a pang of nervous apprehension shot through her, but she had already agreed. "Sure." She groaned silently, hearing how raw her voice remained. Avoiding brushing up against him, Emma took a seat on the far end of the sofa, curling her legs under her. To her relief, he took the other end, grabbing the remote off the coffee table.

"Robin – my partner – we used to enjoy having a go at these shows," he explained as he pulled up one of the procedural crime dramas. "If that would be all right with you?"

Emma nodded, not wanting to continue using her voice when she had so little control over it. Displaying a perception she didn't dare question, Killian got up and made them both tea, hers sweet with honey. Swallowing her surprise, she muttered her thanks and wrapped her hands around the mug. His eyes stayed on her longer than they should have, but when she focused her attention resolutely on her tea, he eventually started the show.

Her throat soon soothed by the hot liquid, Emma found herself laughing at Killian's running commentary before long. She was surprised to find it had been nearly forty-five minutes when their pizza arrived, Killian's comments growing more and more ridiculous as he relaxed and Emma stopped trying not to laugh.

She stayed long after she was full, enjoying herself more than she would have thought. Hollywood got some things right, but a lot wrong, and she joined in after awhile, especially when an FBI agent made an appearance. That devolved into a trading of insults that went on for some time, but lacked all hints of malice.

It was only when she noticed it had grown dark out that she determined she had overstayed her welcome and rose to leave. She didn't want to think about why she had stayed so long, or that for a few hours, she had actually managed to relax – that by the end of the evening, while they weren't touching, they certainly hadn't been on strict opposite ends of the couch anymore, and it had been cozy. Nice.

"Allow me to walk you out?" Killian offered instantly, grabbing his keys from the kitchen counter where she'd tossed them hours ago. While he had kept his hands to himself, he'd watched over her, stopping just short of fussing. She should have been irritated – Emma did _not_ require fussing – but for one afternoon, it had felt good to let someone care for her.

So she hadn't argued, even though she didn't really understand why he bothered – maybe he was still trying to make up for that evening at Gold's, maybe he had some sort of hero complex – but she felt much better walking out of his apartment into the twilight than she would have had she been alone in her apartment watching night descend.

Even with the nagging thought lurking in the back of her mind that it wasn't just company that kept her from going to pieces – it was _Killian's_ company.

"Thank you," Emma said softly as he walked her to her car, glancing up at him from the corner of her eye. "I can't remember the last time I laughed like that."

"I can't either. I suspect it was something we both needed." An undercurrent ran through the words, but his tone revealed nothing.

She nodded, the worries of the day returning outside their cozy Netflix bubble. "I don't know what to do about Gold."

"Tomorrow, Emma. Give yourself one bloody night. It will keep." He stopped next to her car, running his hand over his hair and leaning against the vehicle. Exhaustion lined his features, and she ignored the urge to smooth his hair back from his eyes. "Get some rest. We can't do anything else tonight. Regina would have phoned if they got anything more from Ashley."

"I'll try." She shifted her weight, toying with her keys. She should go – the night was cool and Killian hadn't bothered putting on a jacket. But somehow, someway, she was reluctant to leave. "You should sleep in your bed tonight, as comfortable as your couch is."

"My bed would be more comfortable with you in it." He waggled his eyebrows at her, his tone over the top despite the instant flush that crept into his cheeks and the tips of his ears. She laughed, ignoring that he was deflecting like the best of them – and the gut instinct he wasn't entirely joking. It felt like a lifetime ago she had woken up wanting him, but the morning's dream rushed front of mind at the exaggerated leer, desire curling in her belly.

Emma was grateful the night hid her blush, the street light illuminating Killian leaving her in shadow.

"Goodnight, Killian." She turned before she could do something stupid, like let him wrap his arms around her with the invitation to his bed between them. He was still standing on the sidewalk when she looked up in her rearview mirror, and though she spent the entire drive home reminding herself of all the reasons she was absolutely not going to get involved with Killian Jones, not one of them rang true.

-x-

Killian was surprised when they invited him.

A week had come and gone since Emma's afternoon in his apartment, a week without any further leads or information from Ashley. Everyone was frustrated, and tempers were running high. The entire room held its collective breath and stared when Emma knocked over a stack of files accidentally, her cursing so vigorous even Killian was a little surprised.

"We need a night off," Ruby announced, tossing her own file onto the conference table and rising to help Emma clean up the mess before Killian could.

"We have every night off, Ruby." Emma's words were almost a growl as she scooped up the files, slapping them back onto the conference table. She scowled at the pile as though the paper and ink had been the ones to offend her. "We have no leads, therefore we have no work."

"I meant a real night off, not a night for you to stew in your apartment." Ruby gave the blonde a pointed look that made Killian want to laugh, but he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. He liked that about Ruby – no matter how moody Emma could be, Ruby never held her punches. "Graham, you can cook."

"Me?" His protest was instant, and he shook his head vehemently from his spot across the conference table. "No. Absolutely not. The last time I opened my home, you and that girl from tech were in my bathroom–"

"Just us," Ruby cut in, gesturing to the four of them in the room at present without appearing the slightest bit ruffled by mention of her past exploits. "Me, you, Emma and Killian."

"And why my place?"

"Because you have the biggest apartment." Ruby grinned, ignoring the look Graham shot in her direction. "Please, the rest of us live in shoeboxes. Spread the wealth, Humbert."

"We do live in a city with several hundreds, if not thousands, of restaurants. I hear some of them are even quite good." Graham gestured to the plate glass windows lining an entire wall, the city sprawled out below.

"And when is the last time you really relaxed outside the handful of bars we usually go to?" Ruby shot back, turning on Emma and then Killian. "Can you guys relax in public after all your undercover assignments?" When neither of them answered, Ruby took the silence for agreement. "See? What night and what time?"

"Oh, I've got a say in that, do I?" Killian didn't know Graham that well even after their weeks working together, but he recognized a man caving when he saw one. Graham's expression was resigned, but there was nothing sharp in his retort to Ruby.

"Tonight it is."

"Tomorrow," Graham said after a moment, sighing in defeat and pinching at the bridge of his nose. "Tomorrow at seven. Bring your own liquor. I can't afford you two again." He gestured vaguely at the two women, a smile peeking out from beneath his fingers.

"That was three years ago," Emma protested, but Killian noticed a grin tugged at her lips as she exchanged glances with Ruby. It was a rare thing, a genuine smile that lit up her whole face and made her eyes sparkle in the sunlight drifting through the windows.

He wished he could make her smile at him like that.

"All the same. Killian, if you know what's good for you, you'll keep Emma away from the tequila." Graham shot a look across the table at the woman in question, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms behind his head. A tiny smile played at his lips, and for some reason, that smile irritated Killian – Graham's casual familiarity with Emma irritated Killian. And why was he the one being warned about what was good for him when it came to Emma?

"Oh, please. I don't even like tequila that much. You know I prefer scotch." Emma rolled her eyes again, dropping into a chair and pulling one of the files in front of her.

"Yes, and having seen you and Ruby down half a bottle of tequila in an evening, I also prefer when you prefer scotch." Graham smiled sweetly, turning to Killian with a conspiratorial twinkle in his eye. "Though I'll admit, there were parts of the evening that weren't so bad."

"Graham!" Emma flushed to the roots of her golden hair, a murderous glare taking over her features. Graham shifted in his seat, muttering an apology, and Killian's fingers curled into fists under the conference table.

Silence fell over the group, thick with tension. Graham and Emma were studiously avoiding each other's eyes, and realization dawned on Killian with a sharp pang of jealousy – something had happened between them. And from the look on Emma's face, it hadn't ended well. Had Graham hurt her?

"Killian, any allergies?" Ruby broke the silence, her tone light. "Emma is allergic to strawberries."

"No allergies." Killian raised an eyebrow, wondering why Ruby felt the need to inform him of Emma's allergy. Emma herself studiously ignored his glance in her direction, and Graham hadn't taken his eyes off the table since his last statement.

"Great!" Graham's enthusiasm was overblown and awkward, and the group fell into silence once more.

Killian struggled to keep his attention on the file he was attempting to read, interview notes from one of Gold's men who had been helpful enough to be caught and talk before he met an unfortunate demise in his prison cell. His eyes kept turning to Emma, tugged by the force of her energy. She was especially frustrated today, tension swirling around her like a fine mist, and he wished not for the first time he could find a way to make her laugh again – it seemed so effortless for Graham and Ruby.

Though perhaps not so much in that moment.

But maybe Ruby was right – perhaps this evening outing would do them all some good. Ruby had also been right about his inability to relax in public – there was a reason he kept a good stock of rum in his kitchen. He couldn't afford to let his guard down with an audience, unless that audience was made up of people he trusted completely.

Somehow, the three other people in that room had earned his trust. He only hoped he had earned theirs.

Killian arrived promptly at seven, nervously clutching a rather expensive bottle of rum. If his brother hadn't drilled enough manners into him, the Navy had, and it felt strange to show up on Graham's doorstep empty-handed.

Ruby flung open the door at his knock, her face falling as she caught sight of him. "Thanks, Red," he said with a smirk, glancing behind him to see if Emma lingered in the hall. "Nice to know where I stand."

"I'm afraid she won't show," Ruby confessed, pulling her phone out of her pocket and glaring at it. "She hasn't answered any of my texts since we left work."

"It's just seven now. Perhaps there was traffic?" Killian didn't understand her concern. Emma had been fine when last they saw each other, and hadn't said a word about not attending. What made her friend think otherwise?

Ruby shook her head, her eyebrows knit together. "Emma would walk tonight. She only lives around the corner." He nodded, shoving away his curiosity at Emma's living quarters. He had spent enough time wondering where she lived, if it was close by or across the city from his own apartment, but he had never pressed the issue. He hadn't bothered with a car either, but his walk had involved a few T stops along the way.

"She agreed to attend. Why do you think she won't?" he asked when Ruby didn't elaborate. He stepped past her as she held the door wide, swallowing his surprise at Graham's apartment. It was far nicer than he'd imagined for an FBI agent. Spacious windows occupied an entire wall overlooking the bay, and for the second time in two days, Killian found himself jealous. He vaguely recalled Emma mentioning family money – no government employee could afford such a lavish flat.

Ruby frowned, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back against the door. "I just have a feeling."

Graham chose that moment to appear, wiping his hands on his dark jeans and offering Killian a friendly smile. "Hey, didn't realize you were here," he said in greeting, pointing to a small coat closet next to the door. "There are hangers in there if you want."

Killian shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it up neatly before offering the bottle to Graham. "Fancy a bit of rum?"

"Sounds like a fantastic idea. Come into the kitchen, and we'll get some glasses." Graham turned to go without taking the spirits, but Ruby remained by the door. Killian hesitated, but in the end he followed. Emma had said she would be there, so she would. She wouldn't leave him alone with her friends.

Graham glanced back toward the door as Killian set the rum bottle down, Ruby out of sight but clearly not forgotten. He sighed, reaching for two glasses as Killian pulled the stopper free. "I take it Ruby told you she thinks Emma is going to ditch us."

"Why? Emma assured me she would attend just a few hours ago."

The other man shook his head, watching as Killian poured them each a rather generous measure of rum. "Emma…we've worked together for several years. Something is troubling her, but she won't talk about it, and I learned a long time ago pushing her does little good."

"This case is difficult for her." Killian gulped down a large sip of rum, the liquor burning all the way down. Guilt rose in the back of his throat, bile that made him want to lean his head over the sink. He didn't know what Emma had told either Graham or Ruby about that night, and despite the change in their relationship, Killian had far from forgotten. It didn't help that every time he thought about kissing her, guilt threatened to drown him – and he found himself thinking about kissing Emma Swan a considerable bloody amount. He shouldn't want her, not with what lay between them, but that didn't change that he did.

Graham nodded, his expression difficult to read. "I tried to talk her out of it, you know. The undercover job with Gold. I thought it was too risky. That she would get hurt," he added on bitterly, and for a second, Killian thought the man would turn on him, that he knew what had passed between them. "I saw her scans. Regina had them up in her office and didn't take them down fast enough. The bastard broke her wrist."

"Among other things," Killian muttered darkly, tipping back his glass and swallowing the last of the rum. Despite knowing full well the Emily persona was an act, there was something about the girl's shattered spirit that had clung to Emma in the weeks after, something that he'd caught in her eyes on more than one occasion when she hadn't suspected anyone was watching her.

He refilled both his glass and Graham's, finding himself both relieved and disappointed Graham didn't know about the awkward, terrible sex. At least if the other man had known, Killian could have apologized and taken the punch he was certain he deserved, since Emma was firmly sticking to pretending it never happened.

"How's your niece?" Graham asked after a pause, his discomfort with discussing Emma plain.

Killian grimaced, swirling the amber liquid in his glass as though he may find answers at the bottom. He didn't want to consider what may have happened to Rose in the three weeks she'd been in Gold's clutches. "Belle and Will decided to keep her out of school the rest of the year. She's been talking to someone, but Belle said she wakes up screaming almost every night. She doesn't even want her father to touch her." His knuckles turned white against the glass, and he forced himself to relax before he broke Graham's expensive barware.

"I'm sorry." Graham sipped his drink, the weight of the conversation settling over them both like lead. "I shouldn't have brought it up, my apologies. We're supposed to relax tonight. Ruby's orders."

"Aye." Killian glanced at the time on the stove, noting it had been twenty minutes since he arrived. "Should one of us perhaps go check on Emma? Ruby mentioned her apartment is just around the corner."

Graham frowned, picking up his phone where it rested on the kitchen island. "It's unlike her to…" He stopped as the sound of a knock was quickly followed by Ruby's voice, admonishing the woman in question.

"I know, I know, I should have called." Emma's voice drew closer, her boots tapping unsteadily across Graham's wood floors. "I'm sorry I'm late," she added, entering the kitchen. There was a bottle of scotch in her hands, and by the lazy smile she wore, she had already been into it. Killian frowned, wondering what could have happened since he last saw her to drive such behavior.

He also noticed she had changed, her legs encased in snug denim and a thin cream sweater under her red leather jacket. His eyes caught on the low neckline, the swell of her breasts pulling the fabric snugly across her chest.

 _Stop it._

Tearing his eyes away from Emma's attire, Killian exchanged a glance with Graham. Flattering sweater aside, she seemed to not be in the best of shape. Even Ruby appeared worried, hovering behind her in the archway.

Killian took a steadying breath, grabbing one of the empty glasses on the counter and filling it with water before approaching Emma. "Trade you?" he asked softly, holding the glass out with one hand and reaching for the scotch with the other.

She raised an eyebrow at him, her eyes filled with accusation, but she drank the water anyway. She did not relinquish the scotch. "What?" she asked as she set the glass down, her voice off ever so slightly. "The point of tonight was to relax, right? This is me, _relaxing_."

Killian bit back his initial reply. Expressing his worry wouldn't get him anywhere in her current state, so he refilled the water glass and pushed it back into her hand. "Yes, the point was to relax. Together," he reminded her, steering her out of the kitchen by her elbow. "Let's have some of this fine meal Graham prepared for us, and then we'll do that, all right?"

"I'm not a child, Killian." He was surprised by the venom in her voice, the words sharp and her expression fierce. She shrugged him off, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. She put the bottle of scotch down long enough to shrug out of her coat, revealing the entirety of the body-hugging sweater. The cream fabric made it quite clear just how well her curves had returned since that afternoon at Gold's.

Kilian ran his hands through his hair, struggling with his reactions. Between his powerful physical attraction to her, and his worry over her drinking, he didn't quite know how he felt watching her stumble across the room to hang up her coat.

"I didn't suggest you were, love," he finally said as she reclaimed her bottle of scotch. He swallowed against the pang of helplessness, her silence icy. He wished they were alone, that maybe without an audience Emma would be more receptive – that he could get through to her as he had in his flat.

Killian steeled himself for an awkward evening as they sat down to dinner. Emma took the chair across from him, her eyes narrowed as though she wished to gut him where he sat. Any other day and her anger would have roused his, but instead, he found himself desperate to find the source of her ire. Emma still had her secrets by the dozen, but he knew her well enough to guess she was masking her true feelings with her display of temper.

"I brought tequila if that will cheer you up," Ruby finally said, nudging Emma as she settled into her chair. "C'mon, Em, tonight was supposed to be fun." Her exasperation seeped into her voice, and Killian waited for Emma to lash out. Instead, a flush spread over her cheeks and she mumbled an apology.

He watched in amazement as Emma's friends drew her out of her foul mood. Ruby didn't actually give her any tequila, but she cracked jokes until the frown lines on Emma's forehead smoothed out and her small smiles grew into laughter. Amazed at the transformation, he did his best to keep up, the rum helping him along.

It was late by the time Graham gave an exaggerated yawn, throwing down the cards in his hand. They'd been playing poker for the better part of two hours, pennies piled highest in front of Emma. How she managed to trounce them all so soundly well into her bottle of scotch, Killian didn't quite understand. Heaven help him if he ever went up against her sober.

"You kicking us out?" Ruby asked, yawning herself and glancing down at her phone to check the time. "I guess it is pretty late. Good thing none of us have to work tomorrow."

Graham laughed, the sound soft with alcohol. Over the hours, he and Killian had managed to work their way through a generous measure of rum, leaving them both happily loose. "I'm going to bed. If you really want to stay, you can."

"Thank you for having me." Killian offered the other man a smirk, gesturing to the depleted rum bottle. "You're a fine drinking partner, mate."

"Oh, and I'm not?" Emma was the worst off of them all, her eyes hazy when she looked up at him. He suspected she was trying to appear insulted, but the lazy smile on her face ruined the effect completely – and so did the fact that she was so near her thigh pressed to his, her body swaying into his space.

"You, my dear, are also a fine drinking partner, and an excellent card player." Killian rose from his spot on the floor, offering Emma a hand to help her from hers. "Come, love, I'll walk you home."

"Okay."

He stared at her stumbling form, stupefied as she made her way to the coat closet to retrieve her leather jacket. He'd expected an argument, and by the look on Ruby's face, she had too. "I was going to offer myself," she said too quietly for Emma to hear. "But I suspect you're the better choice." A sly smile accompanied the words, but before Killian could ask what she meant, Emma reappeared. She'd donned a leather jacket, but unfortunately, it was his.

Drunk or not, the sight of her in his jacket, the too-long sleeves covering her hands and the dark leather only emphasizing her petite frame, a rush of pleasure rolled through him, settling low in his belly. Telling himself it was easier to get her home wearing it than to argue, he grabbed her coat from the closet after they'd said their goodbyes, leaving the pile of pennies and the rest of the liquor for Graham.

Emma stumbled on the sidewalk before they'd gone three steps, and when Killian's arm shot out to catch her, she fell heavily against him, snuggling closer. If her clumsiness hadn't been proof enough of her state, the giggles that followed were. He was thankful Ruby had given him Emma's address on the way out since Emma herself was of little use, clinging to him as she was with heavy-lidded eyes.

He frowned in concern, wrapping his arm around her in an attempt to steady her. She burrowed herself into his side, and despite himself, he only held her closer as they continued to walk. Through the haze of drink, he was all too aware of the softness of her body against his, the scent of her skin mingling with the familiar leather of his jacket. He had no business remembering the arch of her back beneath him, but every time she pressed herself to him, it was all he could think about.

Thankfully, her apartment truly was a short walk away. He fished her keys out of the pocket of her jacket, carefully maneuvering them into the building and onto an elevator, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. He didn't trust her to get herself into her apartment, not in her current condition. Guilt rose as he worked to keep her upright, wondering just how it was they had all allowed her to get to such a state – and how very inappropriate his thoughts continued to be despite it.

Emma leaned back against the wall beside her door once they arrived, watching him with the same hazy smile she'd worn for hours as he fumbled the keys, cursing before he managed to get her door open. "You're so good to me." The words ran together, but they were unmistakable as he wrapped his arm back around her to guide her in. "I don't know why, but you are."

"I care about you. You deserve to be treated well." The door closed behind them, and he glanced around for her bedroom. Emma's quarters were Spartan even by his standards, the walls bare and the only furniture a well-worn couch, scarred coffee table, and a small TV hung crookedly on the wall. A bottle of scotch and a set of mismatched tumblers sat on a shelf below the TV, but the flat was otherwise devoid of personal touches.

He hated it. His home was his sanctuary, even if his demons did haunt him as they pleased. It had taken years to accumulate the fine furnishings and choose the appropriate accents, but he'd taken pride in the process. Not many were invited to enter his domain, but when they did, it was very clearly his.

And in a remarkably sad fashion, the same was true for Emma. It simply broke his heart to see the stark white walls, all the blank space screaming out a lack of attachment. "Which way to your bed, love?" he finally managed to ask, shoving aside the new kernel of knowledge regarding just how high Emma's walls stood – just how deep their foundations went.

She attempted to waggle her eyebrows at him, but dissolved into a fit of giggles as she curled against him, her arms circling his neck. "Are you taking me to bed?" she asked. Her giggle should have ruined the effect, but Emma's laughter had quite the opposite effect.

"I am _putting_ you to bed." He grit his teeth, starting down the hall after gently shifting her back to his side. The flat wasn't that large – there were only so many doors to try.

"But you want to _take_ me to bed, don't you?" Her giggles stopped, her eyes wide in the dim light afforded by the streetlight. A sly smile stole over her features, and she replaced her arms around his neck, leaning back against his hold. Despite her drunken haze, he had the unpleasant sensation she saw straight through him.

Finding her bedroom, he didn't answer the question, the guilty truth gnawing at him. He _did_ want to take her to bed, but certainly not like this. Walking her backwards until she settled on the mattress, he took a shaky breath. Not entirely sober himself, he knew he had to get out of her apartment before his own lowered inhibitions led them down a dangerous path.

Or before the same emptiness of her bedroom persuaded him to simply pick her up and bring her back to his apartment, surround her with life and light. His thoughts wandered, assisted by liquor, down a tempting road, all the way to encouraging Emma to choose decorations for the apartment, what it might be like to discover her tastes. Would she favor dark woods and lush greens? Or did she prefer the more pale tones and warmer colors of a sun-drenched afternoon? She did make a fine picture in her red leathers.

But once he'd let her go, Emma's emotions abruptly shifted, yanking him out of his ridiculous fantasy. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, curling onto her side and tucking her hands against her chest like a child.

"No apologies, love."

"Not tonight." She struggled to sit up, reaching for his hand. He let her, craving her touch and not quite ready to leave even though he should. She ran her index finger over his knuckles, and Killian fought the urge to snatch his hand back as the sensations started to feel just a little too good. "I'm sorry…about Gold's. I was kind of a bitch."

Killian froze, wishing he could see her features more clearly in the dim light. Emma never wanted to talk about that night – hell, he didn't really want to talk about that night either. And certainly not with an Emma who may not even remember the conversation.

"It's all right." He swallowed hard as Emma flipped his hand over, tracing a pattern over the inside of his palm. It was a simple gesture, and he hardly thought she intended anything erotic, but he could feel the damp heat of her breath on his skin. After a long night of drinking – a night during which Emma had pressed against him countless times – he was having an increasingly difficult time stopping his mind from wandering back to those thirty precious seconds where her body had responded to his.

The brush of her lips against his skin jerked him into awareness. "I need my coat back, darling," he said gently, extracting his hand with some difficulty. He considered leaving it with her in order to get himself out of her bedroom, but it was a longer walk back to his apartment than the one to hers had been, and there was a bite in the air. "Let me help you."

"You always want to help me." She stared up at him, her eyes wide. "You were trying to help then, too, weren't you? You didn't _want_ to." Her sly smile returned, and she swung her legs off the side of the bed like she was going to get up. "But you want to now."

"What I want is for you to get some sleep, love." He knelt down, pulling off each of her boots, all too aware of her eyes on him and his own pounding heart. "I'll be back in a moment," he assured her when she reached for him again, carefully placing her boots out of the way so she wouldn't trip over them. "Just going to fetch you some water."

He fled before she could say or do anything else, occupying himself with finding a glass and filling it. A trip to her bathroom located a bottle of ibuprofen, which he placed at her bedside with the water. "All right, Swan, there's water and some Advil for you in the morning. I'll come by to check on you, yeah?"

He leaned over her, smoothing her hair back from her cheek. Her eyes glittered in the glow of the streetlamp and with her hair spilling across the pillow, she was far too tempting of a sight. He couldn't stay much longer. He'd never forgive himself if he allowed something to happen between them in such a manner. He wanted her, but he needed Emma to have all her faculties about her if he were to take her to bed.

She moved faster than he could have guessed, her fingers curling around his jaw to pull his mouth down to hers. Her lips were soft as they were demanding, a kiss that tasted of liquor and desire that shot through him sharp as an arrow. He reacted instinctively, deepening the kiss he'd spent weeks wishing for, leaning down with his elbow on the mattress beside her head. Emma clung to him, her breasts soft against his chest, and a small groan escaped him as he slid his free hand down over her shoulder. A shudder of anticipation ran down his spine at the thought of her soft skin, the weight of her breast in his palm, and…

 _What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?_

Killian tried to pull away as reality came crashing back, but Emma's grip on him was too strong. Reaching for the hand now tangled in his hair, he loosened her fingers as gently as he could, breathing heavily as they separated. He wanted nothing more than for her to be sober, to want him as viciously as he wanted her in that moment, but that wasn't going to happen.

"Goodnight, Emma," he said softly, unable to stop himself from brushing a kiss against her hair and breathing her in, the sweetness of her shampoo drowning out the liquor. If she remembered the kiss – or any of what she'd said to him before it – he suspected she would keep him at arm's length for some time.

She lay back with a huff, but her eyes were already closing as Killian pulled the blanket up over her and turned away. When he glanced back from the doorway, she appeared to already be asleep. Cursing under his breath, he adjusted his jeans and walked out, his fingers running unconsciously over his lips and the taste of her on his tongue.


	7. Chapter 7

Emma groaned as she cracked her eyes open, even the muted gray of the cloudy morning torturously bright. She groped on the nightstand for her phone with her eyes closed, cursing when water sloshed over her hand. "What the hell?" she mumbled to herself, blearily opening her eyes once more. She never left anything liquid on her nightstand for a reason.

But this morning, the small bedside table held the remains of a glass of water and a bottle of Advil placed within her reach. Frowning, she rolled over to grab the painkillers, her head throbbing as the room spun. She usually wasn't so prepared for a hangover, and the thought tugged at something deeper, something _else_ hovering just beyond her reach.

"And there's the phone," she muttered as it dug into her hip, still in the pocket of her jeans.

 _Why am I wearing jeans? I don't sleep in jeans. Or a sweater._

She quickly finished the water with the pills, momentarily setting aside the question to soothe her parched tongue. Blinking in the too-bright light, Emma glanced around the room, taking note of her boots carefully placed against the wall. She wasn't that tidy.

 _Oh no._

"What the hell did you do?" she asked herself, her memory rushing back and heating her cheeks. Wincing at the tilting room, she flopped back on the pillows, pushing the heels of her hands into her eyes and willing the dizziness to pass.

It subsided, but her profound embarrassment only grew. She drank too much – _way_ too much. How had it even gotten so bad?

 _You know exactly how._

Coming home, she'd been frustrated with the case and anxious about spending time with Killian outside of work. Ever since that afternoon at his apartment, it had been harder than ever to deny that _something_ lived between them, a simmering kettle of desires that was liable to boil over, and soon. Her skin had tingled all afternoon cooped up in the conference room with him, her body practically vibrating with tension. Time and again, she'd forced herself to look away, to stop wondering if his lips were as soft as they looked, if the scruff on his cheeks would burn against the inside of her thighs or tickle.

And maybe she could have handled that. So what if they had an...unsavory...past. Killian was still an attractive guy – but that intangible _something_ wasn't just lust. Lust didn't fuss and make tea and walk a girl to her car. And Emma couldn't handle that. Not now. Not with him.

So she'd poured a drink to help settle herself while she showered and dressed. And it had been okay at first, the scotch helping her push the frustrations of work out of her mind. Somewhere toward the end of the first glass, she'd traded one sweater for another, and then poured another glass while she fixed her makeup. Had there been a third? One more to calm the unexpected jitters that had flared up when she'd looked in the mirror? Her eyes had already been bright, her cheeks warm, and her sweater showing off her curves – and a tiny, tiny part of her she didn't want to acknowledge was already anticipating the look on Killian's face. Yeah, there had been a third, but it hadn't made her forget her nerves – it had only lit the tinderbox of emotions inside her when it came to one Killian Jones.

Emma groaned at the flood of memories, flinging her arm over her eyes. She had been late to Graham's, and her behavior with Killian in front of her friends…

Which didn't even begin to touch the way she had behaved once they were alone. She cringed at the very thought – pressing herself against him on the sidewalk, telling him he wanted to, of all the damned things, _take her to bed_ , admitting what she'd known deep down to be true about that night at Gold's…and worst of all, kissing him. What the hell had she been thinking?

She had practically offered herself up to him as Gold once had, and what had _he_ done? Stopped her. Stopped her and kissed her forehead in a move so tender the memory left her chest tight.

Stopped her despite it being obvious how little he wanted to, how very much he would have liked to keep going. The kiss was a hazy memory, but the flashes that stood out – his weight pressing her to the mattress, the soft groan as their lips had met, the way his hand had tangled in her hair and then started to move over her – those moments were so vivid Emma couldn't help but wonder what it would have been like if Killian wasn't so...Killian.

 _What the hell am I going to do now?_

 _Pretend it never happened. It's worked before._

 _Not with him._

Rubbing her thumb across her lips, Emma lifted her phone to her face, squinting at the screen. It was already midday, and she had messages from both Ruby and Killian. Ruby's message was sure to be easier to swallow, so she read that first and quickly replied, assuring her friend that she was fine and she could handle the hangover. She ignored the implied question in Ruby's far-from-innocent _you were wearing Killian's jacket when you left_.

Emma's thumb hovered over the screen after she hit send, dread welling up in her stomach. What must he think of her? Had she lost all of his respect? Why the hell had she kissed him in the first place? Of course, he had kissed her back, and then there was that forehead kiss, and _god dammit, Emma, what have you done?_

Telling herself not to be a coward, she brought up Killian's messages, holding her breath.

 _I suspected you might be a tad under the weather this morning. There are bagels and coffee outside your door. Eat the bagels, sop up the scotch. I knocked but I believe you were still asleep._

There was a second message, time-stamped forty minutes later.

 _If you're avoiding me, there's no need. We needn't discuss last night if you don't wish to. I'll add it to the list._

Emma groaned, noting the second text had been sent twenty minutes ago. She knew Killian well enough to sense the bite in his last sentence. It was plain from his behavior at his apartment the afternoon she'd lost it that he wouldn't allow her to run from everything and everyone. He may have granted her a temporary reprieve, but he wouldn't forget the evening, and he wouldn't let it go until she explained why she'd turned up already well into the scotch.

He definitely wouldn't forget her admitting her part in what had happened at Gold's.

Drunk Emma had always been a more honest Emma, and as she lay in her bed trying to summon the energy to get the coffee Killian had left, she forced herself to examine what she'd said to him. She _had_ been pushy that night at Gold's – the awfulness of the situation had made her angry and resentful, and she'd lashed out. She was damn lucky Killian had turned out to be an undercover cop; if he really had been Charles Ellis, she might have ended up dead for some of the things she'd said.

And last night…last night she had thrown herself at him. All the pretending in the world didn't change that she knew he wanted her, even after everything between them. And Emma…Emma didn't know what she wanted. He was sinfully attractive, all dark hair and bright eyes. She'd caught him staring at her before, smoldering with desire before he wiped his expression clean. He hadn't pushed her away at Graham's, not when she'd leaned into him or laid her hand on his thigh or brushed up against him as she passed.

And he hadn't been sober, either. She vaguely recalled him sharing a bottle of rum with Graham. He had tasted of it when she kissed him, slightly spicy and sweet. She didn't know many men with enough self-control to walk away with their own inhibitions lowered.

Graham hadn't.

 _Dragging out all the ghosts this morning, are we?_

Needing to get out of bed, Emma forced herself to her feet, grabbing at the wall for balance as the room tilted madly. It was slow going, and when she finally got the door open, she was half-afraid she would find Killian waiting to ambush her.

But the only things she found were the promised bagels and coffee.

The coffee had gone lukewarm. Emma drank it anyway, nibbling at a bagel despite her uneasy stomach as she collapsed onto the couch. She was halfway through the coffee before she realized Killian had fixed it exactly how she liked it, pausing to stare down into the creamy liquid with a groan. What the hell had she set in motion last night? The sudden certainty that some doors, once opened, could never be closed again descended with alarming speed.

Killian had left her jacket folded neatly over the back of the couch, and the sight dredged up the memory of wearing his coat. Why the hell had she done that? Even drunk Emma had to know the difference between black and red. Her motivations lost, all she _did_ remember was the coziness of being wrapped up in Killian's scent, curling her fingers into the too-long sleeves and not wanting to give the jacket back. And then there had been the walk back, Killian's arm around her, his breath on her cheek, and…

 _Stop. You and Killian…there is no you and Killian. There never will be a you and Killian. Even if you wanted to – which you_ don't _– but if you did, there's too much history. Neither one of you will ever forget what happened at Gold's. You can't build a relationship on that._

Except hadn't she just admitted that she knew they were both in a bad situation that night? There hadn't been a way out for either of them, not without compromising their covers. Neither had known the other's true identity, and admitting to being undercover could have gotten them killed if they were who they were supposed to be.

Not to mention Rose. Emma winced at the thought, thankful for once she had no family to speak of. She was hell-bent on avenging a friend she'd lost over ten years ago – Killian's niece had been missing in the moment. If she'd been chasing after Lily, where would she have drawn the line at what she was willing to do to save someone who meant that much to her? If she were in an honest mood, she wasn't sure there _was_ a line when it came down to it. Why would it be any different for Killian?

 _Why you expect me to behave any differently, or accept less than you would, is a bloody mystery._

In the time she'd known him, he had showed over and over the depth of his emotions when it came to the people he cared about. She had never expected to find him in that stairwell as upset as he was, nor had she ever expected he would be willing to talk to her about it.

She _never_ expected to care about what he had to say. She'd been determined to hate him from the moment she found out Regina wanted him on the investigation, determined never to let him forget what he'd done to her. But that wasn't fair, and she knew it. In the aftermath, she'd been too angry and humiliated, standing in front of an entire police squadron wrapped in a sheet, to really think about it, but Killian had been just as uncomfortable with the whole situation as she had been, maybe more so. And yet, once it became clear they were going to have sex one way or the other, he'd made an attempt to give her something from the encounter.

And for a moment, it had almost worked. To her surprise, her body had responded, and in the seconds it took for shame and horror to catch up, she had wondered what it might have been like if Charles Ellis wasn't a drug runner and she wasn't pretending to be Gold's whore.

If anything, that one moment had made her even more determined to hate him, to correct the wrongness of her body's response to him. Killian probably knew it too, but he'd still fought to protect her. He'd covered her without hesitation in that alley, and his quick thinking and coolness under pressure likely saved them that night. He was a man willing to fight for the people he cared about, and somehow, Emma had landed herself in that category.

She was someone Killian Jones cared about, whether she wanted to be or not.

She never should have let Ruby talk her into going to Graham's. They didn't need a night off – they needed to catch Gold. It was bad enough she'd accepted the invitation, but to get herself mixed up in personal drama with Killian too? He was a distraction, and distractions were not going to help her with the case.

Killian wasn't the monster she'd let herself believe he was, but distractions got people killed.

Determined not to think about him anymore, Emma dragged herself into the shower. By the time she had eaten, showered, and downed another cup of coffee, she almost felt human again. Her eyes were a little red, but otherwise she looked normal enough. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and her keys from the counter, Emma headed for the office.

Days off were distractions, too.

-x-

Killian picked up his phone for the fifth time in as many minutes, growing progressively more frustrated with the dark screen. It had been hours since he'd dropped by Emma's, and still no response to his messages. He could rationalize her not answering the door, as it had been a tad on the early side. But hours later, well beyond when she would have woken, there was only one conclusion to draw.

Not that he wished to accept that conclusion.

"What's going on with you today?" Across from him, David pointed at the phone with the french fry in his hand. "It hasn't left your hand." His frown gave his opinion on the matter quite clearly.

"Nothing to trouble you with." Killian shoved the phone in his pocket, turning his attention back to his lunch. He'd been tempted to decline David's invitation, but he hadn't seen his boss and friend much with everything else going on. He'd known David would see through him in an instant – the man knew him better than anyone – and constantly checking his mobile wasn't going to do him any favors.

"Something to do with Emma Swan?"

Killian's head jerked up, regarding the other man. "Why would it?" he asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

David shrugged. "You tell me."

"Alas, there's nothing to tell." Killian painted his face in innocence, silently counting off his breaths and keeping his shoulders loose. He really did not want to discuss anything having to do with Emma and what had happened between them, either last night or at any other time. Not with David, anyway.

Maybe with Emma. If she would answer her bloody phone.

His friend leaned back in the booth, arms crossed firmly over his chest and brows drawn. Killian stopped himself from groaning aloud just in time. He knew that look. It was the same look David got before interrogating a suspect.

"Try again."

This time, Killian did groan, running one hand through his hair. "The lass had a bit too much to drink last night, and when I went to check on her this morning, she didn't answer her door." It was the truth, after a fashion.

"You went to her apartment?"

"I walked her home last night. She was…impaired." Killian winced, realizing how terrible it sounded, but David cut him off before he could clarify.

"Something happened." It wasn't a question, and Killian cursed the man for being able to read him so well.

"I'm insulted you think so lowly of me," he deflected, ignoring that something _had_ happened, and he was certain it was the reason for Emma's silence. She wasn't the most talkative correspondent, but she usually answered texts within a few minutes. Killian scowled, reaching into his pocket and checking his phone again, David be damned. Still no response. "I walked her home and put her to bed with some water," he finally added when David continued to merely stare at him, waiting for an explanation.

But his boss only continued to study him, and just when Killian thought he was satisfied, David started in again. "Something is off. There's more you're not telling me. You talked my ear off about Robin when you were first partners. Yet this woman, with all your history, not a word." He spoke as though reciting a list of facts in a case, and Killian fought the urge to tell him to sod off.

"I've reported back with…" he tried, but David wasn't having that excuse either.

"No one said you weren't doing your job, Jones. Regina Mills hasn't sent you packing yet, so that counts for something." David sighed, unfolding his arms and leaning across the table on his elbows. "Look, man, it's plain as day you're into her. You need to get over it. I won't have you on this case with your judgment compromised."

"My judgment is not bloody compromised!" Killian's hand slammed down on the table, rattling the silverware.

David raised an eyebrow at him as if to say his point had just been proven. Killian muttered an apology, returning to his meal.

"If that changes, you're off the case."

"Understood, Sergeant." Killian knew David hated his title, especially with old friends and off-duty. His glare said so, but he let the subject drop. Killian steered the conversation toward baseball, an easy topic with which to engage Dave, a lifelong Red Sox fan. Killian didn't particularly care about baseball, with the exception of the fact it was a perfectly acceptable place to have a beer in the middle of the day, but he'd much rather discuss batting statistics than Emma Swan. He forced himself not to check his phone again for the remainder of the afternoon, clenching his fingers around it in his pocket until they parted ways.

The moment David turned the block to head for his apartment, Killian pulled out the phone, frowning at it in the fading gray light. No messages.

Frustration mounting, he decided he was done with texts. "Come on, Swan, pick up," he muttered as he listened to the phone ring. A sliver of worry had worked its way into his thoughts as the afternoon wore on – what if she wasn't avoiding him at all? What if she'd fallen in the night and something was truly wrong? And even if she was avoiding him, it was a little bloody ridiculous. They still worked together.

It wasn't like he'd been foolish enough to accept the blatant invitation to her bed. He didn't deserve to be ignored.

 _You have reached Special Agent Emma Swan with the FBI, Boston. If this is an emergency…_

Growling with irritation, Killian hung up. He hated her voice on the recording, cold and detached. Despite his resolve not to, he sent another text. _I'm worried, Swan. Pick up your bloody phone._

When his phone rang a block later, he didn't bother checking the call ID before answering. "Oh, so you are aware how the contraption works?"

"Catch you at a bad time?" It was Belle's voice that greeted him, tentative in response to his gruff hello.

"No, not at all. My apologies. I thought you were someone else." Reaching the corner, he stopped to wait for the light to change. "Just walking back from lunch with Dave Nolan. Is everything all right?" Killian hated himself for even thinking it, but every time Belle called these days, he was on edge, waiting for terrible news.

"Yes. Actually, I'm calling because I think I might be able to help. Well, not me. But Rose. She's…remembering some details. Do you think I could bring her by tomorrow to talk to you?" She sighed, weariness slipping into her voice. "Maybe helping catch the guy will give her some peace."

"Do you think it best she talk to me?"

"You're her uncle."

"Is she still skittish around Will?" Belle's silence confirmed his fear. "Perhaps a woman would be a better choice. There are several female agents…"

"Would Emma be willing to talk to her? You said she'd been working on this case for a long time. You trust her, right?" There was a desperate edge to Belle's words, a plea for him to keep her little girl safe. He didn't have to ask to understand why she wanted Rose to talk to someone he knew. "She was there that day with Rose, and I just thought…"

Killian hesitated, the thought of Emma stirring up a tangle of emotions all over again. She was on edge these days, and he wasn't sure he wanted to subject either Emma or Rose to a rehashing of the details of Gold's den of iniquity. But then again, maybe whatever Rose had remembered would be the break they needed and would pull Emma out of her mood. "Of course. Why don't you come by the FBI's office tomorrow morning? Around ten?"

 _And hopefully Emma will be there._

"Yes, that will work. Thank you, Killian." Belle paused. "Are you sure everything is all right? When you answered, you sounded…you never answer your phone like that."

"Everything is fine, love. You know how it can be trying to get some bloody people to return your calls. Informants are handy, but terribly unreliable." He winced, knowing the lie was a pathetic one as it left his lips. Belle knew enough cops to know his personal number wasn't the one he gave out to the various useful degenerates in the city – but she had enough problems without his personal issues with Emma, especially not when she was putting her trust in the woman to help Rose.

"If you say so." She plainly didn't believe him, silence stretching between them as she waited for him to elaborate. When he didn't, she sighed into the phone. "I guess we'll see you tomorrow, then. Ten o'clock?"

"Aye. Call me when you arrive, and I'll come down to fetch you."

"Okay. Bye, Killian."

Killian hung up after wishing her a good night, staring down at the screen. Emma had finally answered him while he'd been talking to Belle, but her words did little to reassure him.

 _Thanks for coffee. Not avoiding just tired. See you tomorrow._

The words were perfectly polite, but cold. Emma's texts were usually short, but she loved her bloody emojis, and this message was completely devoid of them.

He was of half a mind to show up on her doorstep once more, but if he wanted the woman to trust him, he couldn't go behaving like a stalker. Resigning himself to a long night and an awkward morning, he resumed his trek home, stopping at the liquor store for a fresh bottle of rum.

Through the night, the misty gray gave way to a full on downpour. The rain tapped against the windows like ghosts begging entrance, and not in the mood to listen, Killian poured another glass of rum. Eventually, exhaustion and liquor pulled him under for another restless night spent on his couch.

The rain hadn't let up by morning, and Killian was soaked by the time he arrived at the office. The wind made an umbrella bloody useless, and though his leather coat did a fine job keeping out the water, his jeans were plastered to his legs and his hair dripped icy drops down the back of his neck.

When Emma's eyes lingered, he couldn't decide if he was flattered or more irritated with her than ever.

She didn't explain herself, and she didn't apologize. After he caught her staring, she rose from the table with flushed cheeks, immediately darting through the open door. Ruby raised an eyebrow at him across the table, giving a subtle shake of her head in warning not to follow. And usually, Killian would have ignored Red's suggestion and gone after Emma, but he was knackered and wearing wet jeans and utterly out of patience. He needed Emma to pull herself together and help his niece.

Working himself up to tell her just that, he was surprised when she returned with a towel. She dropped it in his lap as she passed without a word, and his temper flared all over again – until he realized she'd gone to the coffee pot in the corner and was pouring him a cup. She returned with it and one of the chocolate glazed donuts he favored, setting them both down on the conference table in front of him. His hand shot out when she silently turned away, grasping her fingers. Her skin was warm against his own, chilled and damp as it was, and he felt her shiver.

Waiting for her to finally look at him, he held her hesitant gaze. "Thank you," he said softly, releasing her hand before she could tug it away.

Emotion warred on her face, and for a moment he thought she might smile – but the flicker of warmth disappeared like it had been shut off. "You're dripping on the carpet," she said, stepping away from him. "Graham is at his desk if you want to borrow one of his shirts."

"Shirt isn't the problem, love." He shrugged out of his jacket, draping it over the back of his chair to let the water run off. Other than the slightly damp neckline, the shirt was fine. The jeans on the other hand… "Don't suppose you've got a spare set of jeans?"

Emma sighed, rolling her eyes at his overly hopeful tone. "I can grab you a pair of sweats."

"I suppose FBI pants are better than soaked pants."

His joke fell on deaf ears. "Do you want them or not?" she snapped.

"I'll get them," Ruby interrupted before Killian could say anything. "Killian, come with me." He caught an indecipherable glance between the two women, but Emma backed off, turning back to her laptop.

"So…what happened after you left the other night?" Ruby asked the moment they were out of earshot. Even from the corner of his eye, Killian could feel the weight of her stare.

"What makes you think something happened?"

"Because Emma is being…Emma. I wasn't positive it had anything to do with you until just now. But I know her. That awkward, embarrassed, and pissed off woman you just saw is Emma when she feels backed into a corner by her own actions. So I'll ask again. What happened?" Ruby stopped in front of a door, looking up at him expectantly.

Killian scrubbed his hand over his face, avoiding Ruby's eyes and scratching behind his ear as the silence lengthened. "I really don't feel it's my place to…"

"Did you have sex?"

The blunt question startled him, and his face grew hot. "No. Bloody hell, you saw the condition she was in when we left. What sort of man do you take me for?" It rankled that she was the second person to insinuate he'd taken advantage of Emma.

"Emma can be very persuasive when she wants something."

"I imagine so."

"You imagine?" Ruby shook her head, lifting her ID to the door and holding it until the light turned green. The door unlocked with a click, and she pulled him into a supply room after her. Vests and jackets hung neatly against one wall, several shelves filled with T-shirts, sweatshirts, and sweatpants along the other. She gestured to the pile, taking a seat on a crate. "There should be a few in every size if you want to grab whatever."

"Thanks, Red."

He hadn't even crossed the room when she resumed her questioning, and Killian silently cursed the perils of having law enforcement for friends. "So you didn't sleep with her, but something happened. You might as well just tell me. She'll crack eventually. But if you tell me now, I might be able to help you navigate the boatload of crazy Emma will work herself into."

"I can handle myself."

"Did you kiss her?" Killian grit his teeth, thankful his back was to Ruby, little good it did him. "You _did_ kiss her."

"She kissed me," he finally said, yanking a pair of pants free and nearly toppling the whole stack.

"Just a kiss?"

"Aye, just a bloody kiss! She kissed me, I knew she was well into her cups and wasn't certain she would even remember it in the morning. It was one kiss. I fetched her some water and Advil, and I went home. Satisfied?" Killian was surprised to find his breath had grown short, the words racing out of him and his hands clenched at his sides.

"Yes, actually." Ruby smiled up at him from her spot on the crate, amusement dancing in her eyes. "You'd be good for her, you know. I like Graham and all, but that was never going to work." She paused, tilting her head to the side and narrowing her eyes at him. "Though you might not have known that."

"I guessed something passed between them." He managed to keep the words even, though jealousy raged through his veins at the confirmation. The fact that Ruby didn't think it would ever work did little to soothe the green monster.

"It was a long time ago." Ruby rose, heading toward the door. "I'm not supposed to leave you in here, so I'm giving you two minutes to change your pants before I come back in if you're not out."

It took him a moment to register she'd truly gone after everything she'd said. Ruby's words landed harder than many punches he'd taken, but he forced himself to shake it off. The jeans would take ages to dry, and he didn't relish sitting around in wet trousers the rest of the day.

Even if he did look positively ridiculous in FBI sweats with his boots and shirt.

"That's a good look for you, Jones." Ruby did a poor job of hiding her laugh when he emerged. "I bet your BPD friends are super jealous."

"Aye, it's every detective's dream to be clad in FBI attire."

"I can take them back."

"That won't be necessary." He sighed, gingerly holding his soaked jeans out from his body as they made their way back to the conference room. "Maybe it will make my niece laugh, at least, since you find it so amusing."

"Your niece is coming in?"

"Aye. Her mum called me late yesterday and said they thought Rose may have remembered something. Belle thought perhaps Emma could talk to her."

"Do you want me to ask?"

"I can handle Swan."

Ruby hummed her agreement, her eyes filled with suggestion as she grinned up at him before striding into the conference room. Killian ignored her, grabbing the towel Emma had left for him and rubbing his hair with it before attempting to blot some of the water from his jeans.

Across the room, Emma was doing her very best to appear as if she didn't care he was there. She kept her head bent over her laptop, but her body language gave her away as she shifted toward him.

Killian let her be, gulping down the now lukewarm coffee and donut before checking his phone. It was just before nine, which gave him hopefully enough time to convince Emma to talk to Rose before Belle arrived with the girl in tow. Steeling himself for an argument, he got up to throw out the paper coffee cup and slid into a seat next to Emma on his way back. "Rose is coming in," he began without preamble, hoping to draw her attention by avoiding their personal situation. "Belle and I were hoping you could talk to her. She's beginning to remember things when speaking with the therapist and…"

"What time will she be here?" Emma cut in, all business. She might as well have been asking him where he'd been last night between the hours of two and four am.

"Belle said ten."

"All right. I'll reserve one of the smaller conference rooms. I assume you'll be sitting in?" She looked at him expectantly, her expression devoid of emotion.

"Do you think that wise? I thought perhaps she would be more comfortable with you."

Something in Emma softened, her eyes filling with a deep sadness he couldn't immediately place. "No matter what happened to her, you're still family. She loves you. She knows you're not a threat to her, even if she can't remember that yet." She squeezed his arm, seemingly surprising herself with the action, but she didn't immediately pull away. "But if you think it would be better for me to talk to her alone, we can do that."

"I believe that would be best. Thank you, Emma." She nodded, dropping her hand back to her lap and rubbing at her wrist as though it pained her. Graham's revelation rushed forward unbidden – _the bastard broke her wrist_ – and a cold, hard rage settled over Killian at the sight of her silent pain. He knew better than to mention it, but for a moment he wished he didn't – wished he could wrap his arms around her like he had in the stairwell or his apartment. But even if Ruby wasn't watching them from the corner of her eye, he did know better, and apprehension still came off Emma in waves.

It was impossible to determine if she didn't trust him, or if she didn't trust herself around him. Killian suspected the latter, but either way, Emma couldn't be pushed into anything, so he returned to his usual spot in a chair by the window.

The hour dragged as he waited for Belle to arrive. He'd always been aware of Emma in a room, but it was heightened by the way she stole glances at him, flushing when she was caught. Each time their eyes met, she would quickly look away, resolutely ignoring him…until the next time.

By the look on her face, he wasn't the only one who kept remembering their kiss. He'd done the right thing by walking away, but it was difficult not to wonder what would have happened if he had stayed, especially when Emma seemed just as aware of him as he was of her.

It was a relief when his phone lit up with Belle's call. His jeans were still damp, so Killian resigned himself to traveling the massive building in his current attire, hoping it would at least get a smile out of Rose.

"Abandoning BPD, Killian? David will be so disappointed," Belle joked when she caught sight of him, offering a quick hug in greeting. Beside him, Emma stiffened.

 _Is she jealous of Belle? She can't possibly be._

But Killian didn't have time to analyze Emma's reaction to the woman he considered a sister. Rose stood close to her mother, but when she looked at him, a tiny smile graced her lips. "Did you get dressed in the dark?"

"Had a bit of a run in with the rain and some puddles." He flashed her a grin, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her. It wasn't natural to avoid touching her – Rose had always been generous with her affection, and she had rubbed off on him years ago. Even as she grew into a teenager, Rose had still sought out Killian for a shoulder to lean on when she was having a bad day. _You give the best hugs, Uncle Killy_ , she'd confessed practically in tears over a boy who clearly didn't deserve her. _Don't tell Daddy I said it, but it's true._

Killian wished Rose's tears only came from a rejection by an idiot high school boy – he would have given anything to go back to her disappointments in life being brought on by movie dates and school dances, but that ship had sailed. The only thing he could do now was help her heal and try to prove to her along the way not all men would treat her as Gold had.

"Do you remember Emma? She was…she asked you some questions the night we got you back." He scratched behind his ear, cursing the awkward reference to the night Rose had been rescued from that hellhole. Emma and Rose had been captive at Gold's at the same time – they were hardly likely to forget each other. Killian gestured to the blonde as she began signing forms to get Rose into the building. "She's going to talk to you today, if that's all right."

"Sure." Rose suddenly looked much older than her sixteen years, her eyes on the floor and her shoulders slumped. "Are you…will you be there, too?"

"No, I thought I'd take your mum to get us all some hot chocolate from that place you fancy down the block. It seems the rain has stopped."

"You're going out in public like that?" His heart broke at the forced levity in her voice, an obvious attempt to hide her relief. At least he'd made the right call in choosing to leave her alone with Emma.

"Don't worry, love, you shan't have to be seen with me." That at least drew a more genuine smile from the teenager, but it fell as soon as Emma held out her visitor's pass.

"Rose, I'll take you upstairs now, all right?" He noticed Emma was careful not to touch the girl, standing a good distance apart and gesturing instead of leading her by the arm. Even once they started moving toward the elevator, Emma kept pace with Rose so she never had someone behind her.

"Thank you for bringing her," Killian managed to choke out, his throat unexpectedly tight as he watched Rose's once proud walk turn into a shuffle. "I know it's not easy."

"No, it's not." Belle stared after her daughter for a long moment, then sighed. "C'mon, let's go before I change my mind about being seen with you."

"I was teasing Rose. I can change back into my jeans."

Belle rolled her eyes, looping her arm through Killian's. "You forget I grew up with you."

"Indeed you did." Killian chuckled as they made their way out of the building and down the street, the rain thankfully having tapered off to a light drizzle. As they walked, Belle chattered on about the latest books she'd gotten in at the library where she worked and about Will's job, and Killian let her. If Belle wanted to talk about the weather, he would let her – he knew what a gift it could be to think about something other than the horrors life had served up, if only for a few minutes.

He ordered Rose's hot chocolate once they arrived, extra hot so it would still be warm when she was done talking to Emma. Belle preferred tea, and Killian opted for another coffee, still chilled from his morning dousing. At the last minute, he ordered another hot chocolate for Emma, ignoring Belle's raised brow.

"Emma likes hot chocolate too?" she asked, something overly innocent in her voice.

"Aye, with a bit of cinnamon on top of the whipped cream."

"Does she drink her coffee like that too?"

"No, just sugar and milk. A lot of bloody sugar."

"I see." Belle's lips curved in a knowing smile, and Killian scowled at her.

"Have something to say? Everyone else seems to."

"I can't remember the last time you knew how a woman took her coffee, that's all."

"You hardly drink the stuff, but when you do you like three sugars and more milk than coffee."

"I don't count."

"If you say so." Killian shook his head, determined not to talk about Emma anymore. Belle accepted the dismissal, once again turning the conversation back to mundane things.

The closer they got to the office, the more Belle's words began to rush together, rambling on about anything other than what they were both thinking. He took her into the conference room next to the one he knew Emma was in after obtaining another guest pass, setting down the drinks and leaning back against the wall as they fell into a tense silence.

When they finally emerged, Rose's eyes were red and puffy, and Emma was so tightly wound Killian worried her jaw might snap if she clenched her teeth any harder. To her credit, she was gentle with Rose, speaking softly and thanking her. That Rose allowed Emma to embrace her before returning to her mother gave him hope their conversation hadn't been for nothing, even if Emma's anger was so strong the air was bitter with its taste.

"Thank you, Rose, for talking to me. You've been very helpful." Emma squeezed her hand one more time before turning to Belle. "If you ever need anything, here's my card. I gave Rose one too. My cell phone number is on the back, or you can call Killian and he'll find me."

"Thanks." Belle wrapped her arm around Rose's shoulders as her daughter returned to her side, offering Emma and Killian a weak smile. "Good luck."

Killian walked them out, Rose's fingers curled tightly around her hot chocolate. He stood in the lobby watching them through the plate glass as they made their way down the street, cursing Gold for the hundredth time that morning.

By the time he got back upstairs, Emma's rage was honed into an icy blade. She sat in the smaller conference room, the hot chocolate he'd brought her untouched as she scanned the tablet screen on the table in front of her with cold determination.

"Did she tell you anything we didn't know?"

"Yes."

"That's good. What can I do?"

Emma snapped the case closed over the tablet, rising to her feet suddenly. "Nothing for now. I need to speak to some people before we act on this." Something was off in her voice. She was too calm, too cold, even for Emma.

"I'll come with you," he insisted. Whatever was going through her head, he didn't think it was a good idea for her to be alone. Everything about Emma threw off a dangerous mood.

"No. It won't work if you're with me. Your cover is blown."

"Emma, you're not going back to Gold's by yourself. It's bloody reckless and…"

"I'm not going to Gold's." She met his stare head on, and he didn't like what he saw lurking in her eyes. "I'll let you know what I find out." She walked out before he could stop her.

He moved toward the hall, determined to chase after her, but he forced himself to stop. Whatever was going on with her, there didn't seem to be a damn thing he could say that would deter her from whatever decision she'd made. She wouldn't let him go with her, but if she didn't know he was there, she couldn't stop him.

So he followed her.

* * *

 **With this chapter, I'd also like to welcome evil–isnt–born to the beta fold! They'll be a slight changing of the guard as the responsibilities of life take over and kliomuse focuses on some other things. C, you were SUCH a huge help as I was writing the draft, and I so appreciate all the conversations and brainstorming. Thank you so very much for all of your help. Kick some ass this semester.**

 **The next chapter…well, probably don't read the next chapter at work. If you're like me and have a tendency to do that. You've been warned…**


	8. Chapter 8

He should have put a stop to it hours ago.

Killian sunk lower in the driver's seat of the unmarked car, eyes glued to Emma across the street. She had one foot propped up against the crumbling brick, the other precariously balanced on a dangerously high heel. Her shoulders were slumped, her long blonde hair tangled, and garish makeup was painted across her face.

He was fairly certain the dress she wore was the same one she'd had on that day at Gold's. He hated that she was standing outside in so little, and he especially hated that she was wearing _that_ bloody dress.

The morning's rain had given way to a raw, damp evening. Emma's breath was visible in the cool night air, and she kept shivering, but she stayed where she was. She'd been there for at least twenty minutes, and Killian had fought himself at every moment not to yank her into the car and demand an explanation.

The explanation was clear. Emma was back undercover – when she'd said she had some people she wished to speak with, that was what she'd meant. He'd been too busy keeping tabs on her to be certain, but he had a sneaking suspicion she hadn't cleared this with Regina.

Which meant as far as Emma was aware, she was out on the street by herself.

It was reckless and bloody stupid, and Killian wished she had confided in him. Whatever plan she had in mind, he could have helped her. But he had to satisfy himself with keeping an eye on her, providing the backup she didn't seem to think she needed, and hoping whatever insane scheme she had cooked up was worth the risk.

And worth watching her bloody well freeze to death.

Killian clenched his fist where it rested on his thigh, reaching for his gun with the other hand. He'd had just enough time to return to the conference room, grab his keys, jeans, and gun, and follow her out the door. He was grateful he had, watching as a car pulled up, and Emma pushed off the wall, wobbly in her heels. He was too far away to hear what she was saying, but she'd painted on the fake smile along with the makeup, slipping back into her role all too easily.

 _Don't get in that sodding car, Swan. Don't you bloody do it._

He swore in frustration, banging his head back against the seat. Emma leaned over, talking to whoever was in the car through the passenger window. Abruptly, she straightened, shaking her head and backing away, tangled curls spilling down her back.

Yanking his gun free of the holster, Killian had his hand on the door handle when the driver got out. He froze, watching as Emma's smile returned, shy and almost embarrassed. She stood on the sidewalk as one of Gold's men approached her, and when he put his hands on her, she didn't push him away.

Practically holding his breath, Killian forced himself to stay in the car. This was part of her plan, or she would have fought the man off. He was alone. Killian had seen Emma fight in the gym at the FBI's office – she was plenty capable – but without a weapon, the reality was that a man who easily outweighed her and was surely carrying a gun presented unfavorable odds.

It didn't make it any easier to watch her as she ran her hands over the shoulders of a man Killian knew from personal experience was a nasty piece of work. What could she possibly hope to get out of him? He was sickeningly loyal to Gold – and he was stupid. Gold didn't trust the man with any of his big plans.

There was an alley halfway up the block, and when Emma began leading the creep along to it, Killian had had enough. With Gold's man likely armed, he got out of the car quietly, sticking to the shadows as he approached. Luckily, the man's attention was completely on Emma, and he didn't notice as Killian came up behind them.

Emma stepped into the alley, her voice too low for Killian to catch the words. She laughed – a brittle, fake laugh – and then was silent.

"Turn around, bitch," the man growled as Killian came up to the alley entrance just in time to witness one meaty hand grab Emma's neck and shove her toward the wall, her cheek scraping against the filthy brick. "Shame Gold ain't got you all to himself now, in'nit?"

Emma's whimper was the last thing Killian heard before his gun was pressed to the man's temple. "Hands where I can see them," he growled, reaching for the handcuffs in his pocket. "Slowly. Back away from the girl."

"Hey man, you can wait your turn. I got 'er first."

"Boston PD, you sodding git. Hands. Now." Killian pressed the gun harder against the man's temple, wishing with a burning rage that he could pull the trigger. Some men didn't deserve the court's justice. War had taught him that if his time undercover in Gold's operation hadn't.

And some primal part of him he didn't quite want to acknowledge begged to hurt the worthless bastard for putting his hands on Emma.

"All right, man, it's cool, we're cool." Killian grabbed for the man's wrist as his empty hands came into view, pushing a knee into the small of his back and slamming him up against the opposite alley wall. He snapped the cuffs into place and read the man his rights, gritting his teeth to get through the litany. Only then did he look over his shoulder.

He'd never seen Emma so angry, and by the looks of things, all of her anger was aimed squarely at him. "You're coming with us to the station," he snapped, his own temper flaring. Did she honestly have the nerve to be upset with him for stepping in before this pathetic excuse for a human being assaulted her? Or worse?

"I wasn't doin' nothin' wrong." She made her voice sullen, her shoulders drooping as Killian turned Gold's man back toward the street.

"Solicitation is a crime, sweetheart," he spat back, her refusal to break character only enraging him further. "Do I need to cuff you too?"

"Slut probably likes it."

"You should be a tad less clumsy, mate." Killian yanked on the handcuffs, pulling the man back from the light pole he seemed to have wandered into. "I suggest you take advantage of your right to remain silent," he added, half-pushing, half-dragging the man back to his car.

After removing a gun and two knives from the lowlife, Killian shoved him into the backseat, taking a deep breath after shutting the door. Emma stood on the sidewalk, pale and defiant as she glared at him over the hood of the car. "I had it under control." Her voice was low and trembling with anger, eyes flashing. "You had no right…"

"Get in the bloody car before you catch your death in that…dress." He held her stare, unwilling to back down this time until she yielded. It was a hollow victory when she got into the car, nearly vibrating with rage.

The drive back to the district seethed with tension. Emma pressed herself against the window, refusing to acknowledge Killian's presence. He tossed a jacket on her lap, which she also ignored – it had to have been from spite, because he saw the goosebumps on her skin.

If David was surprised to see him with Emma in tow, he didn't comment. "New guest?" he asked, folding his arms as Killian dragged his suspect in.

"Aye. Robin around? I've got to deal with this one." He jerked his head in Emma's direction, noting the blonde had left the jacket he'd offered her in the car. Under the florescent lights of the district office, her makeup was all the more tawdry against her pale skin.

David nodded. "Holding two is open. We'll deal with him."

"Thanks, mate." He glanced at Emma, then turned back to David. "Mind her for me until I'm through with this, yeah?" David nodded once more, and Killian ignored Emma bristling at his back. If she wanted to stick to her damn undercover persona so bloody badly, who was he to spoil it?

The time spent depositing his charge into a cell and catching Robin up did little to calm him, a mixture of relief and anger at Emma's recklessness coursing through him. He all but yanked her out of her chair when he went to collect her, his hand firm on her elbow. "Let's go."

"Where are we going, officer?" she asked innocently, though steel glinted in her narrowed eyes. "I told you, I didn't…"

"I'm taking you home."

"But I don't want…"

"I don't give a bloody damn what you want," he said harshly, his temper getting the better of him. Killian stopped next to his car, struggling to control his breathing. "Get in the car, Swan."

"No! I was…"

"Being reckless? Acting like a complete rookie? No one knew you were there!" It was a struggle not to shout at her in the middle of the street, his temper racing white hot through his veins.

" _You_ obviously did." She rolled her eyes, tossing her hair over her shoulder and glaring at him.

"And lucky that I did. You plainly didn't bother telling Regina or Ruby or anyone else where you were off to! If I hadn't followed you like you were a bloody criminal…"

"I don't need your permission–"

"Get in the car, or phone Regina and explain how you nearly got yourself raped in an alley." He regretted the words the moment they were out, but when Emma got in the car, he was too relieved to take them back.

It was another silent drive, Emma slamming the car door shut so hard the entire frame shook when they arrived at her apartment. Killian quickly followed her, ignoring her icy glare.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded, turning on him before they got to the door. She had refused the jacket again, and her breath misted between them in the cold night, goosebumps coating her bare arms.

"Making sure you get into your flat and stay there. Let's go before your bloody lips turn blue." He reached for her elbow, intending to steer her into the building, but she jerked away.

"Seriously? I'm a prisoner in my own home? And _you're_ going to be my jailor?" She laughed, a bitter, spiteful sound. "Just how long are you going to keep this bullshit up?"

"Until you have the capacity to act like the intelligent woman I know you actually are." Emma growled in frustration, but punched in a numeric key to open the main door of the apartment building. He was fast enough to catch the door before she slammed it in his face.

Jabbing the button for the elevator, Emma folded her arms over her chest and glared at him. "This is insane. You really have the balls to stand there and lecture me about going off book? _You_ , who got us into this mess in the first place by lying to your squad and going after Rose on your own?" Her lips twisting into a sneer, Emma let out a sharp laugh. "That's really fucking rich."

Killian clenched his teeth, following her into the elevator. She wasn't entirely off the mark, but... "I was armed."

"So if I had a gun on me, you wouldn't be acting like a such an enormous asshole right now?"

Killian opened his mouth to reply, but they'd reached her door and he could only watch in horror as she stretched her hand above the frame, feeling around until she retrieved a key. "You are a bloody FBI agent, and you keep your spare key above the door frame?" he demanded, voice shaking with temper. "That's the most bloody obvious–"

"I know," she snapped, shoving the key in the lock and twisting it violently. "One time thing."

"A one time thing which would not have been necessary if you had informed someone of your...bloody hell, Swan, I don't think so." He caught the door just before she slammed it in his face, shouldering his way past her before she managed to close it on his fingers.

As soon as the door was shut, all pretense of the broken street girl vanished. "You had no right! I had that handled! You're not my fucking knight, Killian! I don't need a goddamn knight!" she snarled, eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. She wasn't wobbling in the heels now, her stance defiant in spite of her perilous perch atop the five-inch spikes.

"That…that buggering arsehole had you up against a wall, Emma. I wasn't going to just bloody sit there and…" She lashed out without warning, and the force of her shove combined with the surprise had him up against a wall himself.

"You mean like this? Tell me, how difficult is it for you to get…" He twisted out of her grip easily, swapping places in the span of a few seconds. If she wanted to get into the business of proving a point, he would be happy to oblige her.

"Go ahead, Swan. Demonstrate how easily you can overpower me, never mind a man twice your size." He pressed his full weight against her, pinning her to the wall despite her thrashing. "Explain to me how you weren't utterly at that bastard's mercy," he demanded, his mouth nearly on her ear. "Tell me how you were going to get out of this situation. What was your plan for this?" She struggled against him, nearly slipping out of his grasp, but Killian wasn't done, shoving his knee against the back of her thigh to tighten his hold. The softness of her body under his registered dimly beside the raging inferno of his temper, and he struggled to push the thought away. "Did you even have a plan when you went off half-cocked without any backup?"

"Get off of me!" She pushed back against him, but he was stronger, and she had no leverage.

"Did you have a bloody plan?" He tightened his grip on her wrists, pinned above her head, her cold skin only fueling his temper. His other hand was on her hip, and he started to move it lower. He had no intention of taking it much further, but he had a desperate need to make her realize how close she'd been to disaster. "Did you even consider what might happen to you alone in an alley with one of them? You spent months living in deplorable conditions witnessing what they were capable of! And still you–"

"God dammit, Killian, let _go_!" She was panting, her cheeks bright with anger as she twisted against him. This close, he could see the thin scratches on her cheek from being shoved against the brick. Suddenly afraid he would actually hurt her, he snatched his hands back and took a step away. She spun around instantly, her lips twisted into a snarl as she closed the distance between them and slapped him. Hard.

"What's the matter, Swan? Don't like me pointing out how bloody fucking stupid your behavior was?" He ignored his stinging cheek, opening his mouth to deliver another scathing dress down – until he saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. The fight went out of him, and all he wanted to do was gather her in his arms, grateful she was in one piece. "Bloody hell, Emma, you have no idea how terrifying it was to see you like that. If I hadn't been there…"

"That sounds like your problem." Despite her glistening eyes, her voice was still sharp, her chest rising and falling with her heavy breaths. "Get out." The words twisted from her lips, blistering with scorn – but something about it rang hollow.

"No can do, darling. I'm staying until you calm down." He eyed her bare skin as he tossed his jacket over the couch, noticing she was still far too pale. "I know you're freezing. Perhaps have a hot shower since you were too bloody stubborn to put on a coat."

"I can take care of myself. I promise I'll stay here like a good little girl." Even if she hadn't rolled her eyes, he wouldn't have believed her for a second, not with the sarcastic twist on the words and defiance still bright in her eyes.

He told her as much, folding his arms over his chest and planting his feet. "I will remain until you have proven to me you are capable of being rational. You can begin with the shower."

"Why the hell do you even care?" She was practically shouting, almost feral as she advanced on him, but there was a tremble in her voice – the cracks in her façade of righteous anger were beginning to show. He eyed her warily, not bothering to stop her when she shoved at his chest. He was stronger than her, whether she wanted to accept it or not, and he saw her coming – but when she tried it a second time, he locked his arms around her waist, limiting her movement. She fell heavily against him, every curve of her body pressed to his. Their eyes locked, and for one tense moment, they were both still. Her chest heaved against him with her heavy breaths, but beneath everything else – the rage, the frustration, and what he suspected may have been embarrassment over her actions – desire shone in Emma's gaze. A fierce, clear desire with all of the awareness behind it he hadn't seen the night he'd walked her home from Graham's.

All rational thought left his mind, and he tightened one arm around her, bringing his mouth down on hers. Lifting one hand up to thread his fingers into her hair, he kissed her as though the ground were about to fall out beneath them, frantic and needy. She responded in kind, the palms once pressed against his chest fisting into his shirt as she yanked him closer. Dimly, he heard a noise that could have been one of the shirt buttons clattering to the floor.

The noise was enough for him to realize what he'd done, and he pulled back, his fingers still tangled in her hair. His breathing labored, he stared at Emma, an apology on the tip of his tongue though he couldn't seem to form the words with her staring back at him, cheeks flushed and lips damp. She didn't say anything, but one of her hands snaked up, nails digging into the back of his neck as she pulled his mouth back to hers in a kiss that left no room for questions.

The tiny voice in the back of his head insisting this might not be a great idea was quickly silenced, Emma's hips pushing against his as the kiss deepened. Needing to get closer, he gripped the back of her thighs, easily lifting her until her legs folded around him. She looped her arms around his neck, using the added leverage to grind down, her dress riding up to the tops of her thighs. Killian groaned at the sensation, the thin layers of fabric separating them doing nothing to hide the heat between her thighs. His head fell back as Emma turned her attention to his neck, dragging her teeth and tongue over the sensitive skin.

It required too much concentration to keep her in his arms standing in the middle of her living room, sensation and thought overwhelming him. She shivered in his arms, her skin still cool to the touch under his fingers as he moved blindly, backing her up against a wall. As he bent to kiss her again, their eyes caught and for a moment, he thought she was about to throw him out.

"Emma?" His voice was rough to his own ears, her name a question he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to ask. The woman in his arms was the most honest he'd ever seen her, the ice melted – pure emotion.

Something warmer flickered in her expression as he said her name, so quickly he wasn't sure it was real before she closed the distance between them. She ran her tongue over his bottom lip before she took it between her teeth, one hand threading through his hair as the other gripped his shoulder. With the wall as leverage, he lifted her slightly higher, his lips and tongue tracing a line down her jaw and over her rapidly beating pulse.

"Killian…" She gasped as he found a sensitive spot, leaning back to give him better access to her throat. A thrill ran down his spine at the sound of his name from her breathless lips, her legs tightening around him. "Still…want me…to take that…shower?"

Visions of Emma's bare skin, slick with water and sliding against his, filled his thoughts as he brought his mouth back to hers, pinning her to the wall with his hips pressed to hers. She swallowed his groan as she moved, rubbing up against him as she lowered her legs.

Her eyes dark with desire, she ran her palms down his chest, pushing ever so lightly until he backed up. She pivoted them, her back to the hall as she dropped her hands to his belt. Her lips curved into a smile filled with sensual promise, and she took a step backwards, tugging him with her by the strip of leather.

They stumbled down the hall in a tangle of hands and mouths that had them all but falling against the bathroom wall. His body desperate for more, he rolled his hips, the hand trapped behind her on the small of her back pressing all the more tightly.

Killian broke the kiss long enough to reach into the shower, twisting the knob far to the left as Emma's fingers danced down his chest, clumsily popping the remaining buttons open. He shrugged the shirt off impatiently by the time she got to the bottom, his attention firmly back on her as he shoved the flimsy strap of her dress aside, trailing kisses along delicate flesh at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. His pulse pounding in his ears, he licked and sucked at her skin as the room grew humid, her moans and rapid breaths moving in time. His restraint rapidly fading, he brought both hands up, palming her breasts and rubbing his thumbs over her nipples until she arched against him. Needing to have her skin against his, he yanked the dress down to expose her chest, barely aware of the sound of fabric ripping.

He didn't care. He never wanted to see Emma in that bloody dress again.

She sucked in a sharp breath as he rolled her nipple, his touch rough even as his eyes devoured the sight in front of him. A flush had spread from the tops of her breasts up her throat, her pink cheeks making her eyes appear even greener when they fluttered open. She held his stare, licking her bottom lip before clamping her teeth down on it when he pinched his fingers together, barely stifling a low moan and squeezing her eyes shut tightly.

As he ran his hand down the curve of her waist, Emma tugged him closer by his hair, walking the fine line between pleasure and pain as she met him in another searing kiss. Her teeth abandoned her bottom lip and sought his instead, pulling him along. The kiss was needy, a match for Emma's impatient hands on his belt.

She broke the kiss, turning her head and tracing her tongue along the shell of his ear. His belt undone, he expected her to go for his zipper as one of her hands moved lower, the other gripping the back of his neck, but she didn't move to free him from his jeans. "Not like last time." Her breath was hot against his ear as she said it, using her palm to rub a slow, firm circle that had him straining painfully against his zipper. The satisfied purr of her voice combined with the firm grip on his arousal sent sharp bolts of desire racing through him.

"This isn't a bloody thing like last time," he replied, his voice ragged as he batted her hand away, already wound too tightly to allow her to continue touching him if he wanted this to last. He yanked her dress down past her hips, taking the scrap of lace beneath with it as he let it all fall in a heap to the floor. This sure as hell wouldn't be anything like the last time he'd had her naked – this time, he wanted to be exactly where he was. Badly.

And so did she.

Using his knee to nudge her legs apart, he brought his hand between her thighs, pleased to feel the slight tremble in them along the way. He groaned in satisfaction, male pride growling with pleasure at the obvious display of desire he'd wanted to coax from her from the beginning, his finger sliding easily inside her. "No, love, this is not a damned thing like last time."

It was her turn to curse, her nails digging into his shoulder as he added another finger, pumping into her even as the tremble in her thighs grew more pronounced. Holding her hip against the wall to keep her still, he glanced down, watching his fingers move with each harsh breath. Swallowing a moan at the erotic image, he fumbled for the shower door, releasing Emma's hip. No longer pinned to the wall, she pushed into his hand, her head thrown back against the wall and her chest heaving with labored breaths. It was one erotic dream after another come to life – except Emma still looked a bit too much like Emily, makeup smeared but still heavily caked on, the ridiculous shoes still on her feet.

He didn't want Emily.

He withdrew his hand, swallowing Emma's noise of protest as he brought his mouth back down on hers while struggling to free himself of his jeans. "In," he ordered gruffly, giving her a slight push toward the open shower door as he bent to remove the last of his clothes. He expected an argument, surprised when Emma merely kicked off her heels and then pulled him in with her, his own shoes barely off.

The water cascaded over them, deliciously hot as Emma's back hit the tile wall, Killian's weight following from her sharp tug. He reached blindly for the shower door, pulling it shut before attacking Emma's mouth again, one hand palming her breast while he curled the fingers of the other possessively around her hip.

It took all of his self control not to plunge into her then and there.

Instead, he touched her everywhere he'd wanted to for weeks, her skin slick as she slid against him. "Killian…" It was nearly a whine, her hips pressing to his, his arousal pinned between their stomachs. "I want…I need…" Her arms looped around his neck again, leverage as she brought her mouth back to his, her kiss almost desperate.

It could have been seconds or minutes they stood under the spray, hands roaming and mouths moving together. Emma snaked a hand between them, and he let loose a string of curses as she wrapped her fingers around his length with none of the cold detachment he'd witnessed the last time. Resting his forehead against hers, he was soon panting. "Stop," he managed to gasp out, brushing her hand aside and tilting her head back with a palm on her jaw. "I want you, Emma. Bloody hell do I want you." But he also wanted to see the desire in her eyes, wanted final confirmation before they did this.

Her eyes met his, the shower having washed away the majority of the makeup and revealing what was sure to be the beginnings of a black eye where that bastard had shoved her cheek into the alley wall. But in spite of it, she looked like the Emma he knew – the Emma he wanted in his bed. Ever so lightly, he ran his thumb over the line of her jaw, careful not to touch her bruised cheek.

Hesitation flickered in the depths of her eyes at the soft touch, and he wondered if that one small moment of genuine affection was going to send her running – but then she pressed closer. "Condoms are in my bedroom." Her voice was raspy against his ear, standing on the tips of her toes as she took him in hand again, circling her thumb until he had the sense to stop her.

He didn't ask if she was sure. Hell, he wasn't sure if they should be having sex, or what it would look like in the morning, but he wanted her more than he'd wanted a woman in his life. He also knew Emma – if she didn't want him there, she'd have found a way to get rid of him by now.

Turning off the water and stepping onto the floor mat, he grabbed a towel and rubbed it over her skin, catching the majority of the water before giving himself the same treatment. Emma was kissing him again before he'd dropped the towel, her touch none too gentle as she maneuvered him out of the bathroom and into her bedroom. She broke the kiss only long enough to grab a condom and roll it on with an efficiency that reminded him too much of that night at Gold's.

Determined to block out the ugly memories, he threaded his fingers into her damp hair, kissing her with every ounce of longing and desire in his bones before pushing her down on the bed. He caught a glimpse of her eyes in the dim light, lust filled with a hint of curiosity, and then he was sliding into her in one stroke that left them both moaning.

Not waiting for her to adjust, he snapped his hips, driving into her and releasing his worry and anger and desire all at once. She met him thrust for thrust, her nails raking over his chest and down his back. He abandoned the sloppy attempt at kissing her, turning his attention instead to angling his hips to rub against her with each movement. He wasn't going to last long like this, the emotional overload of the night boiling over into the sexual tension that had been between them for weeks.

A part of him wanted to slow down, to savor the moment, but he was too far gone, intoxicated by the scent of her skin and the scrape of her teeth along his neck. Gone was the cold woman he knew was a façade, and in her place was the Emma Killian only got glimpses of – passionate and fierce, taking and giving, completely in sync with him.

It was that fraction of a moment at Gold's multiplied exponentially, and it wasn't long before the familiar tightening sensation began to settle over him, everything tunneling down to chasing his release. "Come for me, love." He was practically begging, his lips against her ear, nipping the lobe as he thrust again. "I want to hear you come."

"Just…keep…like that." She was breathless as he was, and a slight shift of his hips had her sucking in her breath, her nails digging into his skin as her entire body went rigid beneath him before going boneless. His release came on like a burst dam, slamming into him with enough power to steal his breath. It left him gasping above her as he kept moving, prolonging it for both of them.

His arms beginning to shake with the effort of holding himself above her, he leaned down to kiss her again, a satisfied, almost lazy kiss before he rolled onto his back, sweat beading on his brow. One arm flung above his head, he closed his eyes, basking in the aftershocks still coursing through him. Aye, it had been everything he'd thought it could be, and given a few moments, he was ready to do it all over again – slower, perhaps a tad gentler. He wanted to learn every inch of her body, preferably with his tongue.

"You can go now." Emma's breathing had yet to regulate, so her attempt at cold and flat failed to hit its mark, even if the words were like a bucket of ice dumped over his head.

"What?" He pushed himself onto one elbow, watching her in the dim light afforded by the street lamps. He should have expected as much, but after all of the emotional upheaval, he somehow had fooled himself into thinking otherwise. "Why the bloody hell would…"

"You and I both know what just happened was a result of that night at Gold's. We were both curious. It was an itch that needed to be scratched. We were both…worked up…and now we're not. So you can go." She wouldn't meet his eyes, hers firmly attached to the ceiling. It wasn't for modesty's sake – she hadn't bothered pulling the sheet up to cover herself, her chest still rapidly rising and falling.

"That is not at all what just happened. I…"

"I don't really care what you think, Killian. It's my apartment. Get out."

It was the second time she'd told him to get out in one night, but the vitriol of her first attempt was missing in the second. He didn't move right away, studying her for some clue as to how to break through the icy wall she'd built around herself in seconds. It was baffling. He'd been inside her not two minutes ago, and now he might as well have been a stranger. One-night stands had shown him more warmth in the aftermath, never mind a woman he trusted with his life.

But there were no cracks to be found in that moment, not without pushing her to a breaking point, and with a sigh, he resigned himself to going home. He refused to give up – he knew Emma was lying, likely to herself as much as to him – but she was never going to see it that way if he forced the issue. Without another word, he got up and went to retrieve his clothes from the bathroom floor. He frowned at the pile of Emma's clothes, something tawdry about leaving them on the bathroom floor beside the heap of towels.

He dressed quickly, replacing the towels on the rack. The dress he began to fold, intending to leave it neatly on the vanity counter for Emma to do with as she pleased, but the longer he held the fabric in his hands, the more he was certain he never wanted to see it again.

He dropped the dress in the trash.

Taking a deep breath and running his fingers through his mussed hair, he ventured a glance in the mirror. The glass revealed flushed cheeks and swollen lips. He could only imagine what the rest of him looked like, between Emma's nails and teeth. He sighed, turning out the light and returning to her bedroom with her shoes, some small part of him hoping she would tug him back into bed with her – that she would let him be gentle with her in the way he wanted to be but suspected she wouldn't have tolerated.

Emma had pulled the sheet up to her shoulders, and her eyes were closed, but it was obvious she wasn't asleep. She forgot he knew her too well – she didn't fall asleep that quickly, and definitely not with the way he was certain her thoughts were racing now that her lust had been satiated. If he were a betting man, his money was on embarrassment over her earlier actions, and anger at herself for letting him past those damned walls of hers, even if only for a few minutes.

Crossing the room after setting the shoes against the wall, he leaned over, balancing his weight on either side of her. "I know you're awake, darling," he said gently, moving one hand in to rub his thumb along her jaw.

"Not for long. Leave."

"Aye, as you wish." He paused, lifting his hand to brush his knuckles down her cheek. She couldn't hide the shiver that tore through her, and inwardly, he smiled. She could talk as much as she liked about satisfying a curiosity, but he knew there was more between them – he'd known it even in the aftermath of that horrible night at Gold's. "But this was far more than an itch, love." Before she could respond, he covered her mouth with his in a searing kiss she returned instantly, her fingers reaching to thread through his hair.

He yanked himself back before she could, his breaths once again pants. He cursed himself even as he did it, somehow knowing if he shut up and let their bodies take over, she'd have him again. But he didn't want this icy version of Emma, all careful control and endless walls. Aye, what had just passed between them was far rougher than he'd imagined it would be considering their history, but Emma's emotions hadn't been closed off. It was the most open she'd ever been with him, reveling in her true desires and looking at him with an unguarded expression.

Her eyes open and glimmering in the dark, she stared at him, her expression indiscernible, emotions once again tightly under control. "Goodnight, Swan. Be sure you lock the door behind me."

Killian turned on his heel, pausing in the living room only long enough to shrug back into his jacket before walking out the door. He spent the journey home struggling to think about anything other than the time he'd spent in Emma's arms, but once his own door was at his back, the images flooded his memory – the heat of her breath on his skin, the scrape of her teeth, the excruciating pleasure of sliding into her.

Cursing at his tight jeans, Killian stalked across the apartment to his bedroom. He stripped out of his clothes, eying his untouched bed. Maybe with the scent of Emma fresh on his skin, his demons would leave him be, but he wasn't in the mood to find out. He ripped a pillow and blanket from the mattress, returning to the living room and throwing himself down on the couch.

The guilt was already beginning to set in, doubts about whether what had just happened had been any better than accepting her offer the night she'd nearly drowned herself in scotch. She had been drunk last time – this time, she had been emotionally intoxicated. He hadn't even asked what Rose had said that had gotten her into such a state. He scowled into the dark, the niggling feeling that Emma's coldness at the end was only a preview of what was to come.

Sleep was a long time in coming.


	9. Chapter 9

Emma kept her chin up as she entered the conference room, scanning quickly to find Killian nowhere in sight. Struggling to contain her relief, she smiled weakly at Ruby as she joined the other agent by the coffee pot.

She'd barely slept after Killian had left, struggling with the scent of him on her skin and the inexplicable desire to keep it there. Tossing and turning for hours, she'd replayed everything on a loop – the frantic worry in his eyes that had morphed into red-hot desire displayed in glacial blue, the scrape of his stubble against her skin, her name on his lips, raspy and utterly undone – until she thought she might go insane.

"What happened to you? You just took off yesterday and now your face...what the hell, Emma?" Ruby demanded as soon as she caught sight of the nasty black eye Emma had woken up to – never mind the other aches she'd woken with, aches that would undoubtedly make her flush the second she saw Killian. Maybe the universe had granted her a favor and he wasn't going to be in.

"I…"

"Swan! My office. Now." Regina's voice was so sharp Emma jumped, turning to find the woman in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest and a glower on her face.

No, the universe was not in a favor-granting mood.

Emma shrugged apologetically at Ruby, abandoning her attempt at a cup of coffee. She took a deep breath as she crossed the hall, wincing as Regina slammed her office door shut once Emma was inside.

"Sit," Regina commanded as she walked around her desk, taking her own seat with barely-concealed rage. Emma braced herself, knowing whatever was coming couldn't be good. It was rare for Regina's temper to get the better of her these days – she'd learned her lesson early in her career – but when she did get angry, she could be unpredictable.

And in that moment, all of her anger was directly solely at Emma.

They sat in silence, Regina evaluating her from across the desk with a cold assessment that instantly made Emma feel somehow inadequate. She fought the urge to fidget in her seat and kept her mouth shut, waiting for Regina to unload on her. She had a sinking feeling the woman had somehow gotten wind of her undercover attempt the night before and was none too pleased.

She was right.

"What in the hell were you thinking?" Regina finally snapped, leaning back in her chair and fixing glittering eyes on Emma.

"I…"

"You weren't thinking, Miss Swan," she cut in before Emma could get in another word. Emma fought her cringe at _Miss Swan_. "Of all my agents, you are hardly the one I would expect to go rogue. And yet, I get a phone call this morning informing me that not only did you go off book, but a goddamn cop had to save your ass! Do you have any idea how that looks to…"

Emma swallowed the spike of betrayal – the detail was a sickening confirmation Killian had sold her out. First he had forced his way into her apartment, talked himself into her bed, and then, when he didn't get his way, when she didn't fall into his arms like he so obviously wanted, he went to her boss to undermine her.

 _That's not fair and you know it. He didn't force you to do anything last night you didn't want to do._

But she didn't want to remember the flash of hesitation in his eyes, the question she could see lurking on the tip of his tongue – didn't want to remember that once again, she was the one who had pushed forward before he could ask if she was sure, before she could change her mind. Her fingers tightened on the arms of her chair, the hurt he had tried so hard to hide when he'd left her alone in her bed sending guilt skittering along her skin. And that last kiss, that kiss had made her want to pull him close and do it all over again, boundaries be damned. How could a man who had been so open and obvious with his emotions in one moment turn his back on her the next?

"Am I boring you, Miss Swan?" Regina's voice sliced into her thoughts, her irritation obvious. Emma's head snapped up, an apology on her lips.

"I'm sorry, I was…"

"I'm not interested in your excuses." Regina sighed, rubbing her fingers against her forehead and regarding Emma wearily. "It's my job to keep you alive. You and all the other agents in this building. It keeps me up at night, because if there is anything I have learned doing this, it's that I don't always get to do that. I do my damndest, Emma, but if you don't give a damn about your own safety, you make it incredibly difficult for me to make sure you get to go home. We have procedures for a reason."

"I know. I didn't think…"

"No, you sure as hell did _not_ think. We've worked together a long time. Something about this case has you off balance, something you haven't told me. I should have made you take leave after that raid. I see that now, but what's done is done. So tell me, Miss Swan, why are you behaving like a rookie fresh out of Quantico?"

Emma fell silent, grappling for an explanation. She took a deep breath, noting Regina's growing impatience. "I don't know." She held up her hand as Regina's brows furrowed, her mouth already open to harangue her again. "It's not a bullshit answer, Regina. I don't really know why I took off yesterday. Rose came in, and I spent over an hour talking to her about Gold and...she's broken. She told me every last thing that happened, every fucking horrible detail, and he only had her for three weeks, Regina. Three fucking weeks, and the rest of her life, she's a victim. That's cemented into her identity now."

Emma gulped down a breath, rushing on before Regina could interject, before she could think about how she'd straight out _lied_ to Killian about what Rose had said, because the truth just made her actions worse – there was no new intel. She had been desperate to take action, desperate to _do_ something to put a stop to it, and that had manifested itself in a barely thought out plan to lure one of the creeps in.

"Rose isn't just some random vic. She's Killian's family, and I can't even help her. I can't help _any_ of them if we don't find a way to get Gold for good." She stopped, her words becoming choked as her throat tightened. She'd known Killian was right last night when he'd put her up against that wall to make a point – she'd known he was justified in his anger even as she clung to her pride and lashed out.

Hell, she'd slapped him, and she hadn't held back. What if he had a black eye too? Emma's fingers rose of their own volition, gingerly prodding at the bruise as bands of guilt tightened around her ribs.

Regina's expression softened, but her eyes held Emma's firmly when she finally looked up. "You are too involved in this case. If you can't be objective, I can't have you in the field. You'll get yourself or someone else killed, and I…"

"No! I'm fine. It was a one time thing…" She winced, recalling her argument with Killian at her apartment. The key above the door had been a one time thing too, but that hadn't made it any less stupid.

"You are not fine. Half your face is bruised and scratched, and you look like you haven't slept in days. Go home, Emma. I hate to think what may have happened to you if Jones hadn't been there." Regina paused, her eyes sweeping over Emma's bruised face. "But maybe you should think about it. Really think about how things could have gone, so that next time you get it in your head to pull this sort of stunt, you think twice."

Emma's cheeks flushed with humiliation, but she refused to back down. "I don't need to go home. I'm fine. This is nothing," she insisted, gesturing to her face. She'd already applied a thick coat of concealer over the bruising she'd found this morning, her cheek tender where it had been smashed against the brick. Killian must have seen how bad it was before she had – as rough as things had been between them, he'd been gentle anytime he touched her face.

She didn't want to think about Killian's gentle touches. They said too much.

"Perhaps I'm not being clear, so allow me to do so. You're going to take the rest of the week off. You violated protocol, and you put yourself and the investigation in jeopardy. Go home."

"What the hell, Regina? You can't be serious." Panic clawed at Emma's throat as she jumped to her feet, staring at her boss incredulously. She couldn't just go home and sit on her couch for a week – she couldn't be helpless while girls were turning up in alleys like yesterday's trash.

"Do you want me to suspend you? Because let me tell you, I've thought about it. I probably should, but given our history…" Regina sighed, gesturing vaguely around the room before rubbing her fingers against her temples. "Look, you're a good agent, Emma. But right now you're a loose cannon and I can't have that. So take some of your vacation days voluntarily or have a suspension on your record."

"Regina, this isn't necessary. I…"

"We can make it the rest of the month."

Emma bristled at Regina's tone, refusing to be treated like a naughty child. "This isn't fair. Some cop calls you up to rat me out and…"

"That cop was right!" Regina interrupted, her exasperation obvious. "You know I'm the first to tell the BPD to go to hell when it comes to interfering in FBI business, but that doesn't change that he was right and you were wrong." Regina rose, gesturing toward the door. "Do I need to provide you an escort out of the building?"

Thoroughly humiliated, Emma spun on her heel, wrenching open the door and stomping out. She caught a glimpse of black leather out of the corner of her eye as she passed the conference room, suddenly grateful Regina had gotten to her before she so much as got her coat off. At least now she wouldn't have to go back in there and face any of them.

"Emma?"

She grit her teeth as he called after her, because of course Killian saw her. Of course he would come after her and want to talk. Well, she didn't want to talk to him. After last night, she hadn't been sure how she was going to face him in the light of day, but his betrayal made the choice simple. So she kept walking.

"Bloody hell, Swan, wait a moment!" He caught up to her easily, the hand on her elbow surprisingly gentle as he pulled her back around to face him. "Are you all right? That's a nasty black eye. You should put some ice on it." He raised his hand as though he were going to touch her, his expression filled with concern, but he didn't get the chance.

Emma slapped his hand away, glaring up at him. "I'll be sure to do that when I get home. I hope you're happy."

"Happy?" he asked warily, his hand going to the back of his neck. "If this is about last night, I–"

"I've been ordered to take the rest of the week off. It was that or get suspended. Go you," she spat, already beginning to move away before he could say anything else about _last night_ in that soft, almost apologetic tone of voice.

"Suspended? What on earth are you talking about?" He pivoted around her, blocking any further progress down the hall, his eyes filled with so much concern she didn't want to look at them. "Emma?"

"Seriously? That's how you want to play it?" Emma folded her arms over her chest, clenching her fingers against herself. "You know, I really don't get you. Last night you rant and rave about _protecting_ me, and this morning you call my boss and–"

"I did no such thing." He took a deep breath, glancing around at the attention they were beginning to attract. As if her morning hadn't been bad enough…

"Is there some other cop who knew where I was last night with a direct line to Regina?" she hissed, her clenched fists dropping to her sides. His face didn't show any sign of bruising from her blow last night, but she really couldn't hit him again – no matter how much she wanted to. _How_ could she have been so stupid as to allow him into her bed?

Killian swore, his eyes squeezing shut for a brief moment before they snapped back open, guilt-laden. Emma's stomach turned at the fresh confirmation of his duplicity. "David texted me this morning asking what to do with Gold's henchman, and I told him to just send Regina the report and let her decide. I didn't think…"

Emma couldn't help herself. She laughed in his face – a bitter, angry laugh. "That's just perfect. You didn't think. Isn't that what you were going on and on about last night? That _I_ didn't think? And now you've gotten me sent home and have the nerve to stand here and tell me you didn't _think_?" She was nearly shouting by the end, her face burning with rage and resentment. "Get the hell out of my way. And don't even think about showing up at my apartment."

Killian hesitated, his eyes scanning her with such worry and regret she had to look away. She hated when he looked at her like that, like he gave a damn. He'd looked at her like that last night – no, not with regret, but with worry and something else she didn't dare to name. But they were in the middle of the hall at the FBI, not wrapped up together drunk on lust in her shower, so he stepped aside.

Emma didn't look back.

-x-

Emma stared at the dress in the trash, baffled. She hadn't noticed in her rush to get to the office that Killian had cleaned up her bathroom before he left, the towels neatly hung and her shoes set out of the way in her bedroom – carefully placed against a wall where she wouldn't trip, just like he'd done with her boots the night he'd walked her home from Graham's. The dress hadn't entered her thoughts, but now here she was.

If she was honest, she wasn't surprised Killian had thrown it out. She knew he hated it, hated everything that reminded him of Emily. It had been all over his face when he'd looked at her in the alley, and again in her apartment, the fabric tearing under his hands. But the fact that he'd folded it first – as though he intended to leave it neatly on the counter, but had changed his mind at the last minute – was more puzzling.

 _He threw it out because it's ripped_ , she told herself, emptying the trash into a bag and marching into the kitchen without glancing down. _Stop reading into it._

Determined to remove the dress and all the accompanying thoughts it brought with it, she made quick work of changing out the trash bag in the kitchen and then gathered up the bags to take to the chute down the hall. When she came back, she would wash her sheets and towels, and just like that, Killian would be erased from her apartment.

 _Because changing the sheets is going to make you forget?_ Emma rolled her eyes at herself, resolutely heading toward the door. _Who are you kidding, Swan? You can still_ feel _him._ And she could – he lived in the ache in her muscles, the tiny marks on her skin, the subtle soreness between her legs.

But since she couldn't shed her skin for a new one, taking out the trash and changing the sheets would have to suffice.

What Emma didn't count on was finding Ruby standing on the other side of her door, hand raised to knock when she flung it open. "I thought for sure I'd find you well into a bottle of something by now, not doing chores," Ruby drawled, stepping out of the way and taking one of the bags from Emma. "I can't remember the last time I saw you take out trash voluntarily."

"I'm so not in the mood." Emma sighed, knowing she wouldn't be able to shake her friend off easily. They walked in silence down to the trash drop, but once they were back in Emma's apartment, Ruby settled onto the couch. She clearly had no intention of leaving anytime soon.

"So…mandatory vacation, huh?"

"Oh, Killian took it upon himself to tell you all about what happened too?" Emma rolled her eyes, letting herself flop onto the couch with an annoyed huff. A glance at Ruby out of the corner of her eye revealed only poorly-veiled amusement on her friend's part.

Ruby's lips curled into a sly grin, her eyes narrowing. "No, but curious that you put it that way." She paused, adjusting her sleeve before looking back at Emma. "The two of you weren't exactly quiet in the hallway this morning. Lover's quarrel?" The question was too lightly asked, Ruby's steely gaze displaying her friend's knack for sniffing out the truth.

Emma groaned in frustration, rubbing her hands over her tired eyes only to curse as she hit bruised flesh, half her face throbbing in response. "Can we not talk about Killian?" she asked, a last-ditch effort to close the topic.

"Did you sleep with him?"

"Ruby!" Emma tossed the threadbare throw pillow she'd been leaning against at Ruby with a scowl. "C'mon, can we _please_ pick a new topic?"

"So you did." Ruby ignored the projectile pillow and got off the couch. Emma hoped it meant she was leaving, even though she knew better. Instead, the brunette crossed the room, plucking Emma's bottle of scotch and two tumblers off their shelf. "Here," she said brusquely, handing Emma a glass after sloshing some of the amber liquid into it. "Drink this, and then tell me what the hell happened last night."

Emma tipped the glass back, swallowing several mouthfuls in one shot. It was only her pride that kept her from sputtering as the liquor burned down her throat. Ruby shook her head as she took her seat once more, raising an eyebrow. "I didn't mean all at once. What, was he terrible or something?"

"No." Emma reached for the scotch bottle, concentrating fiercely on her pour rather than looking at Ruby.

"So, it was good?"

"Can we _please_ talk about something else? Are you still trying to get that girl from tech to go out with you again?"

"Man looks like that, he's either terrible or he knows what he's about." Ruby blatantly ignored the question about her own sex life, her smirk goading Emma into a response – which had been the point all along if Emma knew her friend.

And still, she took the bait.

"He knows what he's about," she snapped, taking a smaller sip of her drink this time. She told herself it was the alcohol heating her cheeks, not the memory of Killian's fingers dancing over her skin, the burn of his stubble against her breasts, or the tight grip of his fingers on her hips. None of that changed circumstances between them. " _Now_ can we move on?"

"If it was good, why don't you want to talk about it? We've talked about everyone else. Even Graham." Ruby leveled her stare at Emma over the rim of her glass, her gaze determined. "What aren't you telling me?"

 _So many things._

Emma sighed, curling into the corner of the couch, clutching her glass like a lifeline as she held the cool surface first against one cheek, then the other. "It wasn't the first time," she mumbled, not knowing where to start. This was Ruby – if anyone knew all her secrets, it was the woman on the other end of the couch. They'd been through enough together that very little would surprise her friend, but it didn't make the story any easier to tell. "I mean, it _was_ , but it wasn't?"

"What?" Ruby's eyes widened, her voice incredulous. "What does that even mean? And how long has…"

Barren, chipped walls flashed through her memory, the look on Killian's face while she'd worked to seduce him and he hadn't been able to summon the required reaction. "It was only once. And it wasn't…neither of us wanted to." Emma winced, tipping her glass back for another mouthful of liquor. She should slow down, considering she'd had nothing to eat but a muffin and some coffee picked up on her way back home, but other than her very clinical conversation with Regina, she had spoken of that night to no one. The memories once relegated to the very depths of her mind hadn't seen the light of day in weeks, and Emma very much wished they would have stayed buried.

"I'm going to need you to explain what that all means," Ruby finally said as the silence grew, the evaluating look she leveled at Emma seeing far too much. "How did it happen if neither of you wanted to? And, I'm sorry, but the way he looks at you, I don't think…"

"We were both undercover," Emma cut in, giving her friend a sharp glare before she could say anything else about how Killian looked at her. "At Gold's. Neither of us knew the other was UC, and Gold gave me to him as…a reward." Emma paused, the humiliation of it all rushing back. She had been seething, standing there in a scrap of a dress, teetering on those ridiculous heels, and _known_ how very little control she'd had over the situation. "I thought it was a test, and I was determined not to fail given how much work I'd already put into getting Gold to think I was stupid and under his control. Killian…he…he tried to give me an out, but I didn't know he was a cop and I…" Emma gestured helplessly with her free hand, out of words to adequately describe how she had felt in the moment, and everything that had come after. "It was awful," she finally said, her voice quiet as she stared down at her glass. "Really, really awful. For him too. He couldn't even…it took a lot for him to even be able to…participate."

Ruby reached for the bottle of scotch on the table, dumping another measure into her own glass before offering it up to Emma. "You never said anything." She shook her head, staring into the bottom of her drink. " _How_ did you never say anything? Explains a lot about how you were around him at first."

"I wanted to pretend it never happened. Regina agreed after talking to Killian's sergeant that we could leave it out of the reports, so we both wrote that we were about to, but the raid happened before we…started." Emma stared at the wall rather than face her friend, running her thumb along the rim of her glass over and over. They'd worked a lot of cases over the years, some together, some apart, and done some questionable things along the way. They'd both spent most of that time single, and they'd both used sex to further their investigations before – and yet, she still didn't want to talk about it.

She'd never slept with one of her marks after the fact, voluntarily. And Killian wasn't a mark. He was a cop. And he worked with her, for the time being. And he'd saved her ass.

"But you were already finished before they got there?"

Emma's face grew hot. "If you want to call it that," she mumbled, taking another small sip of liquor, her limbs already heavy. "He didn't, and I definitely didn't. He didn't…he couldn't…" Emma stared down into her glass, remembering the conflicted emotions that had come with realizing she didn't really turn him on. Victory – served the lowlife right; shame – was there really something wrong with her that not only was she incapable of being in a relationship, but she couldn't even arouse a man?

"But he could last night," Ruby supplied when Emma fell quiet, lost in her memories.

"Yes. He definitely could last night." Emma laughed nervously, once again fiddling with her glass. The die had been cast the moment he'd put her up against the wall, every inch of his body molded to hers. It had been a heady, strange combination of emotions. On the one hand, pure rage that he'd had the audacity to grab hold of her like that; on the other, the heat of his body and the tension between them coating every breath she'd taken. And the way he'd looked at her, the blue of his eyes dark and intense, something almost feral rattling its cage as he'd fought to control his baser emotions. And then that moment, that moment where he'd just _stopped_ , and then he'd kissed her and….

"How did it even happen?"

"I don't know," Emma muttered, watching the liquid swirl in her glass as she tilted it back and forth in her hand.

"Not uh. You know what happened, you just don't want to tell me. Why? You told me all about it when Graham…"

"Killian isn't Graham," Emma cut in, scowling over the couch cushions.

Ruby softened, sipping her drink. "I know. He told me what happened the night he walked you home. Or rather, what didn't."

"He told you?"

Ruby laughed, shrugging her shoulders. "Well, I pulled it out of him. But it does make it even more curious that you two did the deed last night," she added with a pointed look and a raised brow.

"I…" Emma sighed, her thoughts too jumbled to make sense of. How had it happened? One minute she'd been so angry at Killian she could have cheerfully pushed him off her roof and then in the next…in the next he'd kissed her, and she'd never wanted it to end.

"Got something to do with Regina's summons this morning and your sudden vacation?"

Emma nodded, glancing at the wall by the door. He'd put her up against that wall to make a point, seething himself, and even then she'd felt the hard muscle of his chest against her, and some part of her had wanted him to keep her up against that wall for a very different reason.

"Killian followed me last night. I…decided to run an op on my own." Emma held up a hand at Ruby's instant sputtering, begging her friend to let her finish. "It didn't go well." She gestured to her black eye, taking another long sip of her drink. The alcohol was already working its way through her, tendrils of warmth sneaking down her limbs and offering a pleasant haze. "If he wasn't there, I don't know what would have happened."

"So you fell into his arms and he made sweet, sweet love to you?"

Emma shot Ruby a dirty look, but it turned into a grimace. She hadn't even said _thank you_ in that alley. "I was…frustrated with the case. I guess I wasn't really thinking clearly about the whole thing in the moment, and when he brought me home, he insisted on staying until I calmed down. We got into it and somehow that turned into…" Emma tipped her glass back, finishing off the rest of the scotch with a wince against the burn. "I slapped him," she confessed in nearly a whisper, lowering her forehead to her palms, the glass cool against her skin where she still clutched it in one hand.

"So hot hate sex?"

"I don't hate him." Her instant and vehement response was a shock to Emma, her chest tightening and her stomach clenching inexplicably – but by the small smile playing across Ruby's lips, her friend wasn't surprised in the least.

Emma reached for the bottle of scotch again.

"So what happened after? I have to say, guy looked a little bit like someone kicked his puppy all morning."

"He left," Emma replied matter-of-factly, ignoring the heavy lump of guilt Ruby's description of Killian brought on.

"You kicked him out." Ruby's response was just as flat as Emma's, one brow raised in what felt like censure.

Emma flinched, her cold words echoing in her ears. "Yeah," she whispered, her throat tightening. The alcohol must have been making her emotional, because there was no other logical reason she suddenly felt like she wanted to cry.

Ruby sighed, scooting across the couch to take the glass of scotch out of Emma's hands. "I think you've had enough of that. Why don't we order some Chinese food?"

"So the interrogation is over?" Emma tried to make it a joke, but it came out too harsh, her emotions prickling in the light of day they'd been dragged into.

If she was offended, Ruby didn't say anything. She just shrugged, finishing off her own drink and heading toward the kitchen. She came back shortly with two glasses of water, handing Emma one before pulling out her phone and flopping back down. "I wasn't asking for my benefit, Em," she finally said, the words unusually soft. "He seems…he seems to genuinely care about you a lot. And the fact that you slept with him, even after what you just told me happened at Gold's…something about that night must have stuck with you enough to trust him all this time."

"I…"

Ruby waved her off, thumbing her phone screen. "Just think about it, all right?" She looked up, a deep frown etched into her face. "And don't do anything that stupid again, either."

"Yeah, you've all made your opinions on that very clear." Emma sighed, knowing they were all right as much as she didn't want to admit it. "You wanna split an order of crab Rangoon?"

Ruby held her gaze for a long, evaluating moment before she nodded, her serious expression giving way to a playful smirk. "You think cream cheese is a hot idea after all that scotch?"

Emma shrugged, unable to stop a small smile. "Not my worst idea in the last twenty-four hours."

It was late by the time Ruby left, the scotch having long worn off. In its place, Emma found herself exhausted, but after tossing and turning in her bed – a bed which still smelled of Killian every now and again thanks to Ruby foiling her laundry plan – she gave up.

She owed him an apology.

Not giving herself time to think, she threw back the blankets and quickly dressed. Jeans, sweater, boots, and a messy bun she tied as she walked toward the door before she could second guess herself, not bothering with makeup. Her eye couldn't look any worse tonight than it had fresh.

Despite the late hour, she knew Killian would be up. She tried not to think about his tendency to answer the door shirtless when she surprised him – tried not to think about where that might lead.

She was not going to his apartment for sex. She was going to apologize for her behavior the night before, maybe for yelling at him in the middle of the office – at the very least, it had been unprofessional. Not that he hadn't deserved it. He had still all but told Regina on her, and he was supposed to have her back. If he had just done his job himself instead of having one of his cop buddies do it for him, he'd have been smart enough to leave out the part about her going off book.

At least, she thought he would have left it out. It had been hard in the alley to separate out how much of his anger had been directed at her, and how much of it had been directed at the scumbag attacking her. He'd still been pretty worked up when they got back to her apartment – he hadn't exactly held back when he'd pinned her to the wall, every inch of his body locked with tension.

Maybe he would have told Regina.

Maybe he would have been right to.

 _Apologize and leave_ , she told herself firmly as she lifted her hand to knock. _And hope to hell he put on a shirt._

"Emma?" She sucked in a breath as she brought her eyes to his, struggling to ignore his bare chest as he swung the door open. His brow furrowed at the sight of her, but he held the door wider. "Everything all right, love?" It was a gentle question, concern lacing the words, but his jaw was tight as though he was clenching his teeth, tension radiating from the set of his shoulders.

"Um, yeah." She continued to stand in the doorway, her eyes drifting to the wall over his shoulder. It was dark in his apartment, a single lit candle visible in the middle of his coffee table. Maybe she had been wrong about him being up. "Were you asleep?"

"No." He sighed and she caught the scent of rum on his breath as he scratched behind his ear. He stopped suddenly, as if noticing the nervous movement, his palm sliding along the back of his neck. "Care to come in? I very much doubt you drove over here in the middle of the night to stand in the hall." A hint of impatience crept into his voice, his fingers tightening where they gripped the door.

 _Apologize and leave_.

"Um…"

"Bloody hell, Swan, I'm not going to bite." His careful control faltered, the words sharp. He seemed to realize it, blowing out a breath and running his hand through his hair, the already messy strands sticking on end. His hair had looked like that last night by the time he'd left, and she shoved her hands into her pockets to keep from reaching for him. "Would you please come in and tell me why you've deposited yourself on my doorstep at this hour?" These words were softer, and when he reached out, she didn't stop him as he tugged her hand out of her pocket and drew her inside the apartment.

As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, Emma noticed the tangle of bedding on the couch, another candle lit on the table that ran along its back. Next to it lay an open book, a glass of what she suspected was rum tucked up against it. "You read by candlelight?" she blurted out, more uncomfortable at having disturbed him by the minute. There was something far too intimate about the late hour and the gentle glow of the candles, Killian's mussed hair and low-slung pants. Inside his apartment, it was as if another world existed – an intimate, quiet place where Killian saw through her and she let him.

It was such a steep contrast to the moments they'd shared in her apartment, snarling and clawing at each other through a tempest of emotions. Chaos and anarchy reigned within her empty walls, but somehow, here, surrounded by dark leather and rich woods, books and photos, it was easier to breathe.

Killian shrugged, all the muscles in his chest moving with him as he folded his arms, tense with restraint. She probably deserved his anger, but still, he held himself back, all the control he had lacked the night before clamping down. "Aye, on occasion," he said in answer to her question, his eyes flicking to the book. "Sometimes it helps me sleep."

 _This was a mistake._

"I'll let you get back to it then." She turned to go, her face flushing as she caught sight of the scratches along his shoulder, obviously from her nails.

"Emma." His arm snaked around her waist as he said her name, but he let her go as quickly as he'd reached for her when she turned back to him, so close for a moment she could feel the heat radiating off his skin, the scent of his soap inundating her with memories. She took a step back with a shaky breath, but otherwise held her ground, waiting for him to say whatever it was that had him staring at her so intently. He raised his hand slowly, giving her time to move, but she held perfectly still as he brushed the pad of his thumb ever so lightly across her cheek, just below the bruise. He said her name again, a soft whisper filled with more emotions than she wanted to name.

"I…I should really go." She didn't know if she was trying to convince herself, or him, or them both. She didn't belong there, cozy in the dark with a man who had every right to hate her.

Killian dropped his hand, straightening with a slight shake of his head. "Perhaps tell me why you came first?" His voice was quiet, not a trace of his earlier impatience present, like he was coaxing a scared animal from a corner.

She almost wished he'd yell at her instead.

"I…" She shrugged helplessly, struggling to find the words she wanted. _How hard is it to just say_ I'm sorry _and leave?_

"Would you like a drink? Afraid I don't keep scotch on hand, but I've…"

"Do you have tea?" She cursed herself even as she said it, the memory of him pressing a mug of tea into her hands only feet from where they now stood taunting her. He'd been so easy with her that afternoon, despite her reluctance at first – nothing like he was now, a subtle twitch in his jaw revealing too much and not enough.

"Aye, several kinds." He gestured toward the kitchen. "If you'd like to make a selection?" His words seemed carefully chosen, the same tightly-laced control she'd seen in him before clamping down. Why was he bothering? Why, after everything she had said to him in the last twenty-four hours, was he attempting to spare her feelings? Why was he asking her about tea, not her inappropriate meltdown in the office hallway?

She nodded in spite of the way her suspicions made her chest ache, shoving her hands in the pockets of her jacket to keep from reaching for him. His skin was all the more inviting in the golden light from the candles, but as he turned his back to her to walk into the kitchen, she couldn't stop the small gasp.

He glanced back over his shoulder, smiling wryly. "Not to worry, Swan." In spite of his smile, the statement held a tinge of bitterness.

"But…I'm so sorry." She stared at the red marks where her nails had torn into his skin, completely at odds with the swirl of emotion in her gut. She knew they hadn't exactly been gentle with each other, but she didn't remember doing that much damage. Her body bore marks as well, tiny bruises from where his fingers had gripped her hips or his teeth had worried her skin, but nothing like the scratches across his back.

"Sorry?" He paused, pivoting back toward her, holding her stare, almost as if he was waiting for her to acknowledge that of all the things to be sorry for, superficial scratches hardly fit the bill. But she remained silent, and his lips curved into a smile of false seduction. "Did you hear me complain, darling?" He raised an eyebrow, a challenge he seemed to already know she wouldn't accept, the flirtation falling flat. "If you'd like, we can give it another go."

"Tea, Killian." She groaned silently, the words far sharper than she'd intended. "Can we just…make tea?" she asked, softer, hoping he could read the apology in her eyes.

He nodded stiffly, a flicker of sadness running over him before he turned away from her. In the kitchen, another candle burned on the stove, the dancing flame casting long shadows as Killian passed. He set about putting water in a kettle and then turned on the burner, all while she leaned up against the counter, silently watching.

He was an attractive man. All lean muscle, dark hair just long enough to run her fingers through, and the shock of his eyes…it was no wonder she'd been attracted to him. It was the reason why something stirred low in her belly standing in his kitchen watching him boil water.

After all, what other possible reason could there be for her inexplicable attraction toward him? How else could she explain her irrational need to apologize to the man she'd thrown out of her apartment the night before?

He was so gentle with her sometimes, like she was fragile or precious. She always brushed him off, not wanting to appear weak or be treated like anything but an equal. And yet, some part of her responded to it, wanted to let him wrap her up in his arms and keep her safe from the world for a little bit. Would he have been gentle with her if she'd let him stay? Would he have woken her in the morning with a light touch that held the promise of so much more? Could they have done it all again, half asleep and languid, all the time in the world as the sun peeked over the horizon?

"Emma? Did you hear me?" The question hinted at rapidly dwindling patience.

She jerked herself out of her thoughts, grateful for the dim light hiding her blush. "I'm sorry, I spaced out. What did you say?"

Killian frowned. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine." She plastered a smile onto her face by instinct, but knew it was a mistake as his frown deepened into a scowl.

"I loathe when you do that," he snapped, leaning back against the counter. "I told you not to–"

"I know. I'm sor–"

"Why are you here?" he cut in, and though she'd longed for his anger only moments ago, she still flinched in the face of it. "You've made it clear you're not interested in a repeat of yesterday evening, and you haven't mentioned the case, so I have no bloody idea what you're doing here, Swan." He paused, studying her. "I know something troubles you, but as you have no inclination to tell me what it is, what is it you want from me?"

"What kind of tea did you say you have?" she asked instead of answering his barrage of questions, shrugging out of her jacket and dropping it on the back of one of the chairs at the kitchen's edge. She was only delaying the inevitable – Killian might let her off the hook for a little while, but he wouldn't give up that easily.

He sighed, but pointed to the boxes he must have pulled out while she was lost in thought. Emma kept her eyes carefully on the tea selection as she stepped around him, brushing close enough to catch the remnants of the cologne he must have put on in the morning, spicy and filled with sensory memory. Behind her, he remained silent as she dithered over her choice, not really seeing any of the boxes but stalling for time as she struggled with her memories and what the hell she was doing there.

The tension between them rose, Killian's gaze heavy on her back in the silence. When the kettle began to whistle, he made the choice for her, snatching the box of chamomile and assembling the tea. Emma winced as he set the mugs down on the counter, not quite slamming them, but hard enough to echo in the quiet apartment. His frustration visible, he ripped the cardboard as he opened the tea box, cursing under his breath as he yanked out two teabags and sloshed water into the mugs.

"Thank you," she mumbled when he handed over her cup after dumping a considerable amount of honey into it, steam rising in the cool of the night. He grunted a reply, but didn't say anything else as he stalked out of the kitchen, tea in hand. Questioning her decisions, she followed, taking a spot on the opposite end of the couch from him and curling her legs under her body.

He set his own mug down, regarding her in the dim light. She half expected him to pour the remains of his glass of rum into his drink, but he ignored the liquor. His careful control settled back over him, and he was calm again when he spoke, almost formal. "Regarding last night, I apologize if–"

"I actually came to apologize for last night." She took a deep breath, the sweet scent of honey mingling with the candle burning behind them, a hint of summer and the ocean tickling her senses. It helped her stay calm as she forced herself to hold his surprised gaze when she cut him off. She couldn't listen to him apologize, not when she had been so awful to him. "I was…you were right. I didn't have a plan. If you hadn't been there…"

"I wasn't about to apologize for that. I would follow you again in an instant," he said, an edge creeping back into his voice. "I would step into that bloody alley after you every time. And if Dave hadn't told Regina about it, the only thing I'd have done differently was give you the option to tell her yourself before I did. It was a bloody stupid thing to do. As your…as someone who's been in Regina's shoes, you got off quite lightly. It was reckless, and when I think about what could have happened if I hadn't followed you…" He stopped, swallowing hard, his breaths short. He'd worked himself up as he'd gone on, but when she looked in his eyes tonight, she knew his expression for what it was – fear.

"I know." It was barely a whisper, guilt tangled up with the same burning desperation that had consumed her last night. Killian wanted so badly to make things right in the world, but his own niece…he had enough to worry about without Emma making it worse.

"But I should apo–"

"You don't have to," she said quietly, looking down into her tea when she couldn't stand the frustration and longing on his face another moment. "There is nothing about last night that you need to be sorry for." She left the rest unsaid – that she had plenty to apologize for, but was too messed up to even begin to explain herself. She hadn't wanted him to leave, and that was exactly why she'd made him.

"Is that so?" It could have been cold, sarcastic, from another man, but from Killian it was merely a question – it was the _are you sure_ she hadn't allowed him the night before.

"Yes." She swallowed hard, the word sticking in her throat. She didn't know what to say, how she could possibly justify her behavior, but the reality was that Killian had already claimed a place in her life, whether she wanted him to or not. What that place was, she couldn't say, but at the very least, they still worked together. There was no shutting him up in a dark corner of her mind, no filing him away with the rest of her bad choices when it came to men.

"I also…I…you're the first man in a long time I've been with that wasn't…" She squeezed her eyes shut, struggling with herself. She didn't really want to say it out loud – that he was the first man in years who wasn't an assignment or a one-night stand. Something kept the words stuck in her throat, the confession too telling, too personal. Curling her fingers around the warm mug in her hands, she took a tentative sip, desperate for a few more seconds to think.

Emma felt him shift, but was still surprised when his arm came around her shoulder, tucking her against his chest in that protective way he had. The heat of his skin came through her thin sweater, the scent of him curling around her as he simply held her. It bordered on overwhelming, and yet, she didn't want to move. "I…it's not just last night. I was out of line this morning. It was unprofessional, and..."

"Apology accepted." He squeezed her shoulder, tightening his hold. She hadn't realized how much tension he was still holding onto until he relaxed into her, his body molding to hers.

"I just...I'm not good…"

"You don't have to explain, love. I understand what it took for you to come here. Always been a man of action, myself." His thumb brushed against her shoulder, a soothing motion that reminded her just how late it was as she fought a yawn. It didn't help that Killian sounded exhausted as well, drained of even his frustration with her.

"If I hadn't…if I'd…would you have stayed?" She wanted to take the question back as soon as she'd asked it, the words lending a vulnerability she didn't usually allow herself, not to mention how unfair it was to even ask. "Never mind, that's not…"

"Aye, I'd have stayed." She stilled against him, not daring to look up, not when his voice was rough and teetering on a confession she didn't want to hear. But still, she waited for more, for the point when it would all become too much, but he remained silent, stroking her shoulder and sipping from his reclaimed tea.

Eventually, she sank into him, the warmth and softness of his skin under her cheek a balm on her frayed nerves. "I'll leave in a few minutes," she mumbled against his shoulder, sighing with pleasure as he worked his fingers into her hair, slowly but surely undoing the bun she'd hastily tied. She couldn't remember the last time someone had run their fingers through her hair, couldn't remember ever allowing it, but it didn't occur to her to ask him to stop. A comfortable silence fell over them, her breaths deepening as Killian continued to lazily toy with her hair, his callused fingertips brushing against her scalp.

The scruff along his jaw caught in the long strands he'd freed as he nodded above her, and Emma's eyes grew heavy. He might have whispered her name, but she was already half-asleep and only nuzzled further into him. Dimly she was aware of the nearly empty mug being taken out of her hands, the soft thud of it being placed on the wooden table behind them.

His lips brushed against her forehead, his voice a soft rumble under her cheek asking some sort of question, but she couldn't be bothered to answer as she fell into a heavy sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

"Emma!"

She whirled around at the sound of her name, staring into the gloom. The endless murk revealed nothing, but the voice tore through her, haunted and broken. "Hello?" Squinting into the shadows, she stumbled after the echoing plea, hands out on either side for balance. It was warm, almost uncomfortably so, the blackness pressing in around her. Her chest tightened, panic skirting the edge of her thoughts as she fought to breathe normally.

"Emma!"

It was a choked cry, what might have been a man's voice before grief and despair shredded it. She started to run, her heart pounding. Whoever he was, if she could just find him in this wasteland of smoke and shadow, maybe she could help. But every time he called her name, no matter how fast she ran, she couldn't find him. The blackness surrounded her, the air thick and choking as the temperature rose. But she kept running, determined to find him as her name rang through the endless black once more.

Emma jerked awake, the echoes lingering as she struggled to get her bearings. It was dark, far darker than her bedroom. She started to panic as she fought to move, a heavy weight around her waist pinning her in place.

Killian whimpered behind her, her name spilling from his lips in a tortured plea. She froze, rational thought finally catching up. She was in Killian's bed, and the weight around her waist was his arm, the heat only that of his chest pressed to her back. There was a vague memory of curling up against him on his couch, promising herself she would go home in a few minutes – and then nothing.

How the hell had she ended up in his bed, his body and scent curled around her?

Killian's arm tightened, his words indecipherable but still filled with the pain of the voice in her dream. She tried to pry herself loose, but he was too strong and held her too securely, her efforts to get free only making it worse. Swallowing down her rising panic, she forced herself to breathe evenly. The man was asleep – it wasn't his intention to trap her in his bed. And if she really needed to get free, she could. She was a goddamn FBI agent.

But she didn't want to hurt him.

"Hey, wake up," she tried, gripping his arm and jostling him. "Killian, c'mon, you're having a nightmare. Wake up!" He stilled at the sound of her voice, sighing with his lips close to her ear. His breath washed over her, a damp, warm puff of air that sent a shiver down her spine.

She didn't want to shiver in his arms, didn't want her thoughts to instantly fly back to the night before at her apartment, when he'd made goosebumps appear along every inch of her naked skin with a flick of his tongue.

Twisting under his arm, Emma managed to position herself to get one hand on his shoulder, giving him a good shake. She tried to ignore how close together they were – that if they weren't wearing clothes, all she would have to do to have him inside her would be a tilt of her hips and a slight shift of one leg.

 _That is not why you came here, and that is not happening again. Stop thinking about it._

"Killian!" She was practically shouting, her voice hoarse from sleep as she tried once more to rouse him. That finally did the trick, his body tensing against hers and his eyes slowly opening. They were glassy and, when they finally focused on her, filled with grief so profound her throat tightened.

He let out a shaky breath, his hand on her back pressing her closer, and if he had kissed her then, she wouldn't have pushed him away. Not with the way he was looking at her, like she was his every hope and dream realized.

But he didn't kiss her. He jerked away suddenly, rolling onto his back and rubbing at his eyes. "Apologies, love," he muttered, voice gruff. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, the sheet at his hips. Whatever he said next was too low for her to hear even as close as she was, but it sounded like he was counting, very slowly.

Emma lay on her side, frozen. She wanted to leave – she _desperately_ wanted to leave – but it was as though she was back in the stairwell with him all over again. Except he had been calling out her name in his sleep, and everything about him – the glassy eyes, the raspy voice, the way he'd clung to her before regaining his senses – said that it was more than a simple nightmare.

But that didn't mean she knew what to say to him. Emma barely knew how to deal with her own nightmares, never mind Killian's. Silence grew between them, and if it weren't for the tightness of his jaw or the rigid set of his shoulders, Emma might have believed he was asleep with how still he'd gone, even his soft mutterings gone silent. "Are you all right?" she finally asked, some part of her wanting to reach for him even though every muscle in her body was tensed to flee.

"All's well, Swan."

His voice was still broken and he wouldn't look at her.

So he didn't want to talk about it. That was fine. Emma didn't really know that she wanted to talk about it either, but it didn't seem right to leave with him so upset. So she instead asked the question that had been nagging at her since she opened her eyes. "How…how did I get here? I mean. Here, in your bed. I remember tea and…" Emma glanced down at the sheet, twisting it in her fingers. For a man who didn't sleep in his bed much, he had a surprisingly comfortable mattress and sheets softer than her own.

"You don't remember?" The ghost of a smile stole across his lips, and when she dared to look up, he was watching her, intense in the darkness. "You fell asleep when we were…on my couch. I didn't wish to wake you, so I carried you in here. I swear I didn't intend to fall asleep. You requested I stay and…" He shrugged, turning his attention back to the ceiling. The vague, embarrassing memory of her fingers twined in his, her soft plea for him to stay came back to her with a hot stain to her cheeks in the dark.

"You don't usually sleep in your bed," she said after a moment, remembering the blanket on the couch. It was the same one she lay under now, the scent of Killian surrounding her.

"Perceptive, aren't you, Swan?" He sighed, folding one arm to rest his head on his palm. "You can go, if you like. I suspect you want to." Defeat weighed the words down.

Emma opened her mouth to reply, but she didn't know what to say. She did want to go, her skin tingling with the emotion he radiated and the intimacy of sharing his bed. She was still fully dressed, her boots likely put neatly out of the way as was his tendency, but she felt more exposed to him in his bed, a foot of empty mattress between them, than she had when she had been naked in his arms.

But she couldn't leave him alone with his demons. Not after how terrible she'd been to him last night. She owed him that much.

Tentatively, she reached across the bed, finding his hand on the sheet and gripping his fingers in hers, choking down the urge to snatch her hand back and get the hell out of his apartment. His surprise was painfully obvious, but he didn't pull away even as silence once again blanketed them. Emma closed her eyes, unable to look at him with his emotions laid bare and her hand in his. She didn't want to think about what it meant that she hadn't bolted yet, that somehow, even as the only sound between them was their breathing, she found a way to stay where she was.

That some teeny, tiny part of her she wished she could lock away _wanted_ to stay.

"You asked me once about Milah," he said after a long silence, his fingers lacing with hers and squeezing as she blinked her eyes back open, not entirely sure she was ready to hear whatever came next. She had asked about the woman in anger – it was one thing to hear it from his lips when he'd been caught in a lie, but entirely another in his bed deep in the night. She had just worked up the nerve to tell him he didn't owe her an explanation when he continued, "I was quite young when I met her. Too young, foolish and arrogant – I thought I was invincible in those days, you see. Had yet to truly feel the consequences of war, what it was like to listen to the screams of the dying and to wish myself among them." He paused, the words bitter and choked.

"You don't have to tell me." She managed to get it out this time, watching his throat bob with the force of his swallow as he gathered his thoughts, the memories obviously painful.

He rolled onto his side, but didn't let go of her hand as he moved closer. He looked younger somehow, hair in his eyes and cheek pressed to his pillow. "Aye, Swan, I do. Perhaps I should have told you the day you first asked, but I admit my temper got the best of me." He glanced down at their hands, stroking his thumb along her wrist. "Milah died…she died because my judgment was compromised by my feelings for her. Not a day goes by that I don't remember that."

"The file said she died in a roadside bomb." Emma didn't mean to let it slip out, didn't want to keep talking about this woman he had once loved so deeply his pain lingered years later. Her hand rose on its own to cup his cheek, and she was surprised to find the skin damp beneath her thumb. "It wasn't your fault that…"

"She shouldn't have been there," he said harshly, starting to roll away again, but Emma held fast. She shifted closer, and he sighed as though in surrender, burying his face in her hair. She was fiercely uncomfortable with his vulnerability – and inexplicably, wanted to wrap him in her arms, hold him safe until he could put himself back together. "I dream about it – I watch her die over and over. For some bloody reason, more so when I sleep in my bed. Except tonight…" His voice was muffled against her hair, but it didn't hide the unbridled torture of seeing his worst memory and fears come to life.

The answer slammed into her with all the force of a shotgun blast. "It was me in the dream," she whispered, her eyes snapping shut tightly at the horrible realization. All that pain in his voice, all that longing, it had been for _her_ – that terrible, broken cry in her dream had been an echo of his.

He nodded against her neck, his other arm coming around to hold her against him, palm between her shoulder blades. She swallowed against the odd mixture of panic and comfort that seemed to permeate her time with Killian, their entwined hands trapped against his chest as she slid her free hand into his hair.

"I couldn't save you." It was a confession, filled with a shame she knew wasn't about her, _couldn't_ be about her. He had saved her, whether she wanted him to or not.

She took one deep breath, then another. "I'm right here, Killian." She dragged her nails lightly across his scalp, his hair silky beneath her touch. Some of the tension left his shoulders, so she kept doing it, firmly ignoring that she couldn't remember ever comforting a man like this before, not even Neal. "I'm safe."

"Promise me you won't take foolish risks. I can't…"

"I can't make that promise," she said stiffly, the intensity of his request stirring the urge to run even as she continued to soothe him. "Not in our line of work. You and I both know there are risks."

"I said _foolish_ risks, love." A measure of his usual humor filled the words, but he was holding her far too tightly for it to be merely a joke. He leaned back, stilling Emma's fingers in his hair as he studied her in the darkness, pale blue glinting. "I recognize you are good at your job. You are brilliant, and strong, and you care about helping people. But I…" He paused, his hand trailing from her back over her shoulder until his thumb brushed just under the bruises on her cheek. "I care about…I can't lose you, Emma."

"You won't," she replied, ignoring the niggling feeling she was making a much larger promise – one she wasn't capable of keeping. He needed to hear she wasn't going to wind up dead, so she would give him that – and leave out how incapable she was of being anything more to him.

She firmly ignored the raw, urgent tone of voice that made _care_ sound a hell of a lot like something else.

He nodded, brushing his thumb along her jaw one last time before leaning in. Emma held her breath, suddenly unsure whether she wanted him to kiss her or not, but he only brushed his lips against her forehead before rolling onto his back. Wound together as they were, he took her with him, cradling her against his chest with far more tenderness than she deserved.

She should have gone, then, but as his breathing leveled back out and the frown lines smoothed, she couldn't. She told herself it had everything to do with Killian needing to sleep – she was doing him a favor in staying, in offering what comfort she could in penance for her cruel words. It had nothing to do with the softness of his skin under her palm, the warmth of his embrace, or the strange certainty that she was safe with the steady thud of his heartbeat in her ear.

But when she woke with the dawn, Killian's arms still around her, it was a lot harder to lie to herself. So she did what she was good at – she ran.

-x-

Killian expected her to be gone in the morning, but he was still gutted when he opened bleary eyes to an empty bedroom, the scent of Emma on his skin and sheets. Telling himself to be happy she had stayed as long as she had – that she had even come over – he got out of bed and set about starting his day.

He firmly ignored the tug in his chest as he passed their empty mugs, the all-too-easily conjured memory of Emma snuggling sleepily into his side assaulting him. Why did the woman have to be piss drunk or half asleep to be open and honest with him? It was frustrating, to say the least, but Killian was a patient man.

With Emma all but suspended, he'd wondered if he'd be sent back to BPD, but Regina barely acknowledged him, as was her usual manner when he arrived at the FBI's office. He poured himself a coffee and kept his head down, waiting for the cold shoulder from Ruby and Graham. He was certain they would blame him for Emma's absence.

He was shocked when they didn't. Other than a lingering look of curiosity from Ruby, they were their usual selves.

The day was wearisome all the same, the majority of his time spent watching surveillance video of the area where Emma had been the night he'd followed her. He'd hoped to find something – anything – but came up empty. The only sign of Gold's crew was the one bastard who had shown up the night Emma was there.

Killian sighed as he left the office, turning his collar up against the breeze coming off the bay. It was a cool night, a good night to crawl under the blankets and…

 _Don't go there, mate. She won't make a habit of it. No good will come of wanting what you can't have._

Still, he couldn't completely tamp down the sliver of hope when it came to Emma. He wasn't foolish enough to think sex was a promise of anything, especially not the sort of sex they'd had, but there was something about her in the darkness of his bedroom, something tender and warm in a way Emma rarely allowed. It wasn't the first time he'd dreamt about Emma in Milah's place, but he'd been smart enough to keep his mouth shut about that much at least.

He didn't want to think too hard on why his subconscious was shifting Emma into Milah's memory. The easy explanation was that Milah was the last woman he'd worked with closely before Emma; it was only logical his mind made the jump. It had nothing to do with his feelings for the blonde, nothing at all to do with his desire to have her in his bed again not only for the pleasure of her body, but for the comfort of her skin against his. It had been a long time since he had allowed a woman to see his demons, allowed himself to find shelter in feminine arms, but with Emma…with Emma he didn't even stop to think about it.

If only the lass would stick around long enough for him to convince her his feelings were genuine, that he wasn't a tosser with a misguided hero complex, nor was she a simple itch that needed scratching. He wasn't a saint. There had been plenty of women who had satisfied a curiosity or slaked his lust for an evening or two – he'd spent years taunting death, taking his pleasures where he found them.

But those women hadn't frustrated and intrigued him – and he hadn't shown them anything more than a good time and a seductive grin. They didn't know he slept on his couch and read books by candlelight, didn't know he'd been in the service, never mind a single thing about Milah. Hell, half the time, they didn't even know he was a cop.

Killian paused at the entrance to the T, glancing at the signs. One set of stairs would take him in the direction of Emma's. The other would take him home to an empty apartment.

 _You've not heard from her all day. Give her some space._

Hating the little voice in his head that he knew was right, Killian sighed and headed for home. He scowled at his bed as he changed out of the clothes he'd worn to work, a part of him wanting to simply curl up and go to sleep with whatever trace of Emma remained.

 _Bloody ridiculous._

Yet as the night deepened around him, Killian's determination to not think of her faded. He swirled his rum in its glass, watching the amber liquid run back down in thick droplets while his mind drifted. How had they even gotten here from where they started? And where would it end?

Where did he want it to end?

"It'd be nice if she'd stay the bloody night," he grumbled to himself, eyes sliding to the dark phone on his coffee table. The more he drank, the more he wanted to call her, text her, beg her to see him. But some vestige of sanity convinced him to remain where he was. Emma tried his patience, but she was worth it. He'd get the story out of her one day – the reason she seemed to be waiting at every turn for him to throw up his hands and walk away from her.

And he'd find out just what the hell had happened between her and Graham.

He didn't bother dragging the blankets out onto the couch, collapsing into his bed with the memory of Emma in his arms. It wasn't enough to keep the nightmares at bay, but when he woke with his throat raw and his pulse pounding, at least he could still find the trace of her scent on the pillows.

Ruby raised an eyebrow at him when he stumbled into the office, her gaze tracking him across the room. "You look like shit," she commented with her usual bluntness. "Up late with Emma?"

From the corner of his eye, he saw Graham lift his head suddenly at the question. Killian swallowed his irritation at the sensation he was being judged and found wanting by the other man, turning his attention back to Ruby. "I haven't seen Emma since day before yesterday," he replied evenly, forcing himself to hold the brunette's stare. It was unlikely Emma would have confessed her late night visit to her friend without prompting, and if Ruby thought he'd been with Emma last night, that meant she hadn't been. For all she knew, the last time Killian had seen Emma had been in the hallway outside the conference room.

"Oh." Ruby eyed him suspiciously, but shrugged her shoulders eventually. "Well, we're going out after work tonight, if you want to join us. I thought it'd be good for Emma to get out of her apartment."

"I'm not certain that's a good…"

"The plan is to meet at seven at The Midnight Ride," Ruby cut in, rolling her eyes. "Stupid name, but this whole town is obsessed with its history. Do you know it? It's around the corner from her place. Thought I'd make it easy on her. Or me, when I have to go drag her out."

Killian chuckled in spite of himself. "Aye, I've heard of it, but never been. Ye old pub sort of gimmick?"

"That's the one." Ruby smiled up at him, and he had the strange sensation he'd played into her hand somehow. "Seven o'clock, don't be late. Humbert and I are heading out to check on Ashley. Enjoy your surveillance videos." She clapped him on the shoulder as she passed, scooping a set of keys off the conference table.

Graham paused on his way after her, studying Killian with narrowed eyes. "Don't hurt her, Jones."

"I have no intention of doing any such thing." He respected Graham too much to play stupid, not when it came to Emma. He swallowed the rest of his comments – needling Graham over his own role in Emma's history wouldn't get him anywhere. Not to mention they still had to work together – squabbling over a woman neither of them could call his own wouldn't do. He didn't want to get into some sort of overly complicated pissing match with Humbert. Irrational jealousy aside, he liked the guy.

Graham nodded, following Ruby without another word. Killian groaned once he was alone in the conference room, dropping into a chair and flipping open the waiting laptop.

Oddly nervous about seeing Emma in a social group setting after the nights at her apartment and his, Killian settled in for another long day. He was tempted to text her, to make sure his presence wouldn't make her uncomfortable, but in the end, he let it be. Perhaps a part of it was the selfish desire to see her – he didn't want to give her the opportunity to avoid him completely.

Ruby and Graham had yet to return by the time he left the office, but it wasn't until Killian walked into the bar to find only Emma waiting that his suspicions rose. "Hello, love," he said in greeting, sliding onto the empty barstool next to her and glancing around. "Where's the rest of the lot?"

Emma ran her finger along the rim of her glass, the flush of her cheeks visible even in the dim light. "Ruby claims her and Graham are stuck in traffic on 495 and probably won't make it."

"What the bloody hell are they doing all the way out there?"

"I was hoping you might be able to tell me." Emma laughed, but there was no amusement in it. "You know what I think? I think Ruby never had any intention of showing up here tonight and somehow convinced Graham to go along with it. But you just answered my question as to whether or not you were in on it."

" _In_ on it? I assure you–"

"Don't worry. I know this is all Ruby." Emma glared down into her drink, curls spilling over her shoulder as she leaned forward with her elbows on the bar. "She likes to meddle."

"Meddle? What…oh." Killian shifted uncomfortably on his barstool, not knowing what to say. He wasn't exactly unhappy to learn he had Emma all to himself for the evening – or that Ruby supported his evidently obvious intentions – but he didn't want Emma to stay from some misguided sense of obligation. "No, I was not aware of her nefarious plan, but rest assured, if you wish to leave, I won't be offended." He paused, unable to stop himself from adding, "Though a less secure man might begin to wonder if he's been found lacking when a beautiful woman continually leaves his presence." He did his best to keep the words light, but by her expression, he did a piss poor job of it.

Emma flushed, and he wished he'd kept his mouth shut. He hadn't meant to push her, but some part of him despised the notion of watching her walk away again. "Do you want me to leave?" she eventually asked, an undercurrent in the words he couldn't quite pin down.

The question surprised him. "No," he answered without hesitation, fisting his fingers against the urge to reach for her. "No, I'd very much like you to stay."

"This isn't a date," she said after a slight hesitation.

"Never implied that it was," Killian replied with what he hoped was an easy grin. Frankly, he thought the lady protested too much, but since all he wanted was an evening in her company, sod what they called it, Killian didn't really feel the need to say so.

"I'm not going to…we're not…this isn't ending up with me in your bed. Clothed or unclothed." Her cheeks warmed ever so slightly, and he bit back the urge to tease her over her obvious fluster. Aye, the lady definitely protested too much, but it didn't entirely remove the sting of her clear desire to keep her distance.

"Understood," he agreed, but Killian couldn't help the smile that overtook his features. "Any other rules?" he asked with a small laugh, silently wondering exactly who she was trying to convince about how the night would end. If Emma wanted him, he wasn't going to turn her down – but he would also welcome a simple evening in her company. So much of their time spent together was stressful and intense – the frustration of the case, moments in the field that were downright dangerous, the emotional interludes they seemed to increasingly share in private. Perhaps it would be good to spend an evening together outside of all that, to not be their respective pasts or cops or FBI agents with the weight of stopping Gold on their shoulders.

"If I think of any, I'll let you know." The hint of a smile tugged at her lips, and she took another long drink from her beer. "On second thought, I have a rule. You need to order a drink. I can't drink alone."

"If the lady insists." He flashed her a grin before catching the bartender's eye and ordering a beer of his own. He wasn't sure how long their evening would last, but he didn't make a habit of drinking liquor in public places surrounded by strangers. Turning back to Emma, his eyes lingered on her cheek, the bruising obviously covered by makeup. "How's your eye?"

She shrugged, returning her attention to her drink. "It's fine."

It wasn't fine. The discoloration bled through her makeup, and the swelling had yet to fade completely. He nearly said so, but Emma's raised shoulders and tight grip on her glass stopped him. Ruby had been right about Emma needing a night out, but forcing her to talk about her injury wasn't going to do either of them any good.

He nodded his thanks as the bartender dropped off his beer, scanning the room by course of habit. His eyes caught on a dartboard tucked into the corner, and he grinned into his glass. "Fancy a game of darts, love?"

"Darts?"

Killian nodded toward the corner, turning on his stool to face her. "Aye. I hear they allow you to throw sharp, pointy objects at a perfectly good board to your heart's content."

That got a smile out of her, and she nodded, tucking her phone into her pocket as she stood. Drinks in hand, they made their way over to the board in companionable silence, the hum of conversation and music surrounding them.

"Care for a friendly wager?" he asked with a playful lift of his brows, determined to coax Emma out of her shell with something other than alcohol. He wanted her mostly sober tonight – he wanted to know everything she said and did was entirely her own choice, wherever the night might lead them.

"I'm not taking your money." She rolled her eyes, rubbing her thumb across the condensation on her glass. "I can beat you just fine without betting on it."

"Confident, are we, Swan?" He handed her a set of darts, indulging himself with the lingering brush of his fingers against hers. That she didn't immediately jerk her hand away was no small victory. "I haven't an interest in making a pauper of you. We can play for something else."

She frowned at the innuendo, folding her arms across her chest, cradling her drink while leaning away from him. "I'm not playing for sex," she said flatly, her expression unreadable, all traces of humor gone.

"I didn't imply you would, but since you brought it up…" He knew the joke was the wrong move by the thunderous glare that quickly overtook her.

"One time thing." Her voice was strained, each word ground out between clenched teeth. "You know, I think I'm just going to go home. I don't need this."

"Emma, wait." He took a deep breath, wondering how things could go so wrong so quickly when it came to Emma Swan. A friendly flirtation had her running for the hills, and all he wanted was to give her one evening of peace. "It was a joke, aye, a poor one, but I meant nothing by it. We can play for information. We both ask questions for a living."

"Like an interrogation?" she asked skeptically, her shoulders still stiff.

"No, just questions, love. Trivial things. A means to pass the time and talk about something besides the bloody case." He shrugged, drinking from his beer to give him something to do with his hands. He didn't know why it was so important to him that she stayed tonight – maybe he couldn't watch her walk away from him again, maybe he wanted her to just enjoy his company for once – but he was determined to win her over.

"What kind of trivial things?" she asked after a pause, and though her eyes were still narrowed, her shoulders dropped a fraction as she relaxed.

"That would be up to you. Should you win, of course." He grinned, gesturing toward the board. "Ladies first."

She opened her mouth like she wanted to protest, but she couldn't entirely hide the smile tugging at her lips. "Oh, all right." Stepping closer, she jabbed him with her elbow, nudging him out of the way. She was close enough her hair fell over his arm as she moved, a tumble of spun silk over the darkness of leather.

Emma threw her darts with determined concentration, each one landing with a solid thud against the board. She was good, and she knew it, offering him a satisfied smirk when she was through. "Your turn," she all but sang, reaching for her drink as he took his place in front of the board.

He returned her look with one of his own. Emma was good, but Emma hadn't spent years on a ship with little else to pass the time. His throws beat hers handily.

She gaped at him when he returned with their darts in hand, holding hers out. He didn't bother trying to keep the smugness out of his voice. "I believe the round goes to me."

"You tricked me!"

"I did no such thing."

"Like hell! You let me stand there talking about taking your money, and you..." She gulped down a portion of her beer, waving her hand at him with a scowl. He suppressed the grin at her obvious irritation, Emma's competitive streak glowing brightly as she stopped short of admitting he was better at the game than she was. "All right, ask away."

He laughed, fiddling with the darts still in his hand. As much fun as it was to rile Emma, he had no intention of dragging out ghosts tonight. "What's your favorite color?" he asked, hiding his smile behind his beer when she turned to him with genuine surprise.

"Favorite color? That's your question?"

He nodded, happy to see her finally relax completely. "Aye."

"Yellow," she said after a moment, laughing almost as if she were embarrassed.

"Yellow?"

"Yeah. I had a car that was yellow once." She pulled a face, setting down her beer and resuming her spot in front of the dartboard. "I told you before, Regina made me get rid of it when I started doing a lot of undercover work. She said it was too noticeable."

"She may have had a point."

Emma turned around long enough to roll her eyes at him before returning her attention to the dartboard. She took a long, slow breath before throwing her first dart. It landed within a hairsbreadth of the bull's eye, but she didn't so much as smile. With determined concentration, she threw the next two in quick succession.

"Not so easy for you this time," she teased when she moved out of his way, admiring her handiwork. Two darts sat on the outer ring, with one just inside the red.

"We'll see about that." He wasn't about to just let her win, but Killian didn't exactly try too hard to beat her, his attention more captivated by the genuine smile Emma wore than the game. When he bothered to look back at the board, he'd lost. "So, Swan, what will it be? My secrets are all yours."

A shadow passed over her, and she raised her glass to her lips, nearly draining it. "Hold that thought. I'm going to grab a refill. You want one?" Killian knew her too well to miss the strain in her voice she was trying desperately to hide.

"I can…"

"This one's on me. You can get the next round." She smiled brightly, the expression brittle, and he swallowed his frustration. How many times would he have to ask her not to bother with the bloody fake smile around him? It wasn't as though it worked – he saw right through her every single time she did it.

But he wasn't in the mood to begin an argument, so he let it go. "Aye, I'll take another." She fled as soon as he responded, making a beeline for the bar as he grit his teeth. Perhaps he should have known better than to speak of secrets so casually, but he hadn't meant anything by it. He'd asked her possibly the most innocent of questions – did she really believe he intended to pry into her closely guarded past over a game of darts in the middle of the sodding bar?

Emma was calmer when she returned, her smile sheepish though genuine. She didn't apologize, but she handed him his beer and didn't immediately return to the dartboard. "I'm guessing it's cheating if I ask you your favorite color?"

He took the question for the peace offering it was. "Remember, we ask questions for a living, darling. I know you can do better."

She laughed, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I guess so." She paused, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she glanced up at him. He forced himself to hold her gaze, struggling not to become distracted by her teeth worrying such delicate flesh. "Favorite book?" she finally asked, breaking eye contact. "I assume you read a lot since the other night…"

 _You turned up at my apartment in the dead of night and discovered me reading before you fell asleep in my arms?_

Killian nodded, finishing off his first drink to hide whatever his face might have betrayed at the memory. "Aye, I read a fair bit. If I had to pick one it would likely be _The Call of the Wild_."

"Interesting choice. Isn't it pretty much about a dog?"

He shrugged, watching as she gathered up her darts and eyed the board. "It's about survival, no matter the odds or circumstances." Emma didn't turn around, but her shoulders went rigid, and her shot flew wide. "I've always been a survivor. I suppose that's what drew me into a book about a dog."

"I haven't read it." She threw again, the second shot better, but not by much.

"I have a copy, should you like to borrow it." He paused, watching her final throw bounce off the board. She cursed in frustration, snatching her beer off the table they'd commandeered nearby and glowering into it.

"No, thanks. I think I see enough humanity stripped away in my daily life."

Surprised by the bitterness in her voice, he regarded her for a long moment before lining up his first shot. "That's not the point of the story, love. It's about doing what needs to be done to survive and protecting the ones you love." He spoke to the board, letting the dart fly. Emma's reaction rankled, the easy camaraderie of their game fading as he threw again, the dart landing dead center. He'd already won the round neatly, but he threw the third dart anyway, forming a line within the red circle. "Haven't you ever been in love?" he asked as he turned back to her, the words out before he could think better of them.

"No."

"You're lying."

"Is this how you run your interrogations? Ask simple questions to lull your victims into a false sense of security and then go for the throat?" She shook her head as he took a step closer, backing herself toward the wall. Her eyes flashed with cold fury when she looked up, an old hurt buried beneath the icy embers.

"I apologize. I…should not have asked." He sighed, reaching for his beer and drinking deeply. Hadn't he just told himself the purpose of the game was to keep things light, to give Emma a night of fun amidst all the stress? What had possessed him to ask such a question?

"No, probably not." She fiddled with the darts in her hand, her focus somewhere over his shoulder. "I guess the real answer is I don't know. I thought I was in love, but…" She shrugged, still refusing to look at him.

"You don't have to…"

"You told me about Milah."

"This isn't tit for tat."

"I know. But Ruby will probably tell you if I don't, so…"

He waited for her to go on, but when she only continued to stare at the wall behind him, Killian set his darts down on the table, the game momentarily forgotten as he took a tentative step closer. "She's many things, but I somehow doubt Red would betray your secrets."

"She might if she thought she had a good reason," Emma replied cryptically, finally turning her eyes to his. "I was a teenager. It wasn't long after Lily was…after Lily died. He said all the right things, and then he broke my heart. Sometimes I think it's still broken." She said the last part so quietly Killian wasn't sure he was meant to hear, but he hated to see Emma – proud, stubborn, strong Emma – so defeated.

"If it can be broken, that means it still works," he said gently, closing the distance between them and pushing her hair out of her eyes. He wanted to kiss her desperately in that moment, to wrap her in his arms until the pain faded to a memory – but it wasn't that simple. Milah was but a memory, yet he knew all too well just how sharp she could cut nonetheless.

Emma's short laugh was more of a scoff, and she quickly stepped away from him. He hadn't realized how close together they'd been standing, the heat of her body so near his disappearing with her. "Don't distract me this time," she said gruffly, lifting one arm.

"Relax your shoulders. You were too tense last time."

She glanced back over her shoulder, her expression indecipherable, but she took a deep breath and settled herself. Her darts all landed neatly within a respectable distance of the center. She remained silent as he threw, and this time, in spite of his efforts, it was his shots that went wide with the weight of Emma's stare on his back.

He faced her, waiting for her question, knowing he deserved whatever she flung at him. Would she ask about his childhood? His useless father? Liam? All painful memories, and all within her rights after his cock up.

"I'm not asking you any more questions about books," she teased, her voice surprisingly light though her eyes remained guarded. He chuckled, nodding his agreement before walking over to the board and pulling their darts free.

"Why Boston?" she asked when he returned. "When you came back, why Boston? Why not New York?"

He shrugged, scratching behind his ear. "New York never felt like home," he replied honestly, glancing around the kitschy bar. "Dave offered me a job, and Belle was here, so it seemed as fine a spot as any to tie up for a bit." He left out that by the time he'd come back, he'd been so wrapped up in his own grief and hatred that no one else would have him – that he'd spent weeks on David's couch surrounded by empty liquor bottles before his friend had delivered a well-deserved dress down, shaming him back into a semblance of respectability and the police academy.

"How long have you known David?"

Killian grinned, shaking off the dark memories. "Now, now, Swan, you've only won the right to ask the one question. You'll have to win the other." It had the desired effect, bringing back her smile and laughter.

By some unspoken agreement, they passed the next few hours without stepping into each other's past. Playing darts eventually gave way to sipping their drinks in a booth, sharing greasy bar food and trading stories of their time coming up through the ranks. Killian revealed he'd known David early on in his military career, but once David met his wife, he had opted out of being a sailor. The BPD wasn't always any safer, but it meant he came home to Mary Margaret every night. Killian hadn't understood his friend's choice at first, but all it had taken was one glimpse of the couple dancing together at their wedding for it all to make sense.

Not that he relayed that part of the story to Emma.

She relaxed as the night went on, recalling her time at Quantico with Regina. Killian listened in amazement as Emma laughed over memories of too much wine and suffering through early morning runs, Regina swearing up a storm as they trudged through the woods. It was hard to reconcile the not-a-hair-out-of-place woman Killian saw on a daily basis with Emma's recollections, but then again, he wasn't the same man he'd been fifteen years ago.

They weren't drunk by the time they left, but Killian was pleasantly warm and Emma's cheeks were pink. Her guard had come down as the night went on, but he was still surprised when she linked her arm through his for the walk back to her apartment, her head occasionally resting on his shoulder. It took all of his self-control to not tighten his grip, to not tug her closer and press his lips to hers in the middle of the city.

But Emma scared easily, and though it had started out touch and go, they'd had a lovely night. No sense in ruining it. So he didn't push, and though he walked her to her door, that was to be the end of the evening.

"You should put some ice on that before you go to bed." Killian brushed his fingertips under her eye, the deep purple bruising beginning to yellow around the edges.

"I will." Emma's eyes closed as he ran his thumb along her jaw, her lips parting ever so slightly. He took a shaky breath, following a path down the graceful column of her throat and across her collarbones, desire burning low in his belly despite his resolve to keep the night innocent.

 _This isn't a date._

 _This isn't ending up with me in your bed. Clothed or unclothed._

Her remembered words stopped him from kissing her, despite the clear invitation in her parted lips. He dropped his hand, taking a step back as Emma's eyes popped open, confusion and surprise coloring her expression. He could try to rationalize that she'd said nothing about _her_ bed, but Killian wasn't in the mood to be thrown out of her apartment again, not after the rather enjoyable evening he'd spent in her company.

But he couldn't make himself leave yet, not with that look on her face. It was plain as day she wanted more than the light touch of his fingers on her cheek, but Emma's desires hadn't been the problem last time.

 _Ask me to stay. All you have to do is ask._

He lifted his hand again, but dropped it before he could touch her. His self-control waning, he knew it was time to leave before he gave into his lust. It would be a shame to spoil what had been a mostly lovely evening with another walk home filled with self-loathing and old insecurities.

"Goodnight, Emma," he said softly, unable to stop himself from brushing a kiss against her hair before turning away. He felt her eyes on him the entire walk to the elevator, and when he glanced back after pressing the button, she was still standing outside her door, watching him.

She didn't ask him to stay.


	11. Chapter 11

Killian spent the rest of Emma's involuntary vacation struggling with himself and his undeniable emotional attachment to a woman who was as stubborn as could be. Their night out at the bar – the date that wasn't a date – left him raw. He shouldn't have asked her something so personal as whether or not she'd ever been in love. He'd known a festering wound lay behind that door, but in the heat of the moment, he'd forgotten himself, forgotten how high Emma's walls rose above them both.

The night had been pleasant enough once they'd recovered from his muck up, but it was impossible to shake the image of her in the hallway, the wanting plain on her face but unwilling to admit to it – unwilling to admit she'd wanted him to kiss her, to make the decision for her and force her hand by making the first move. He wouldn't do it again. If there was any chance of them making a go of it, she had to want to as badly as he did.

She had to _accept_ she wanted it as badly as he did, despite their past.

Emma wouldn't fall for another of Ruby's setups, and she would never voluntarily agree to spend an evening with him without some other pretense, not with how they'd left things. She'd always come to his apartment with a purpose, whether it be about work or her rather frustrating apology – just as he had always had a reason for being in her home.

Emma wasn't ready to hear he didn't need a pretense, and she assuredly was not ready to admit she didn't need one, either. He wondered if she'd admitted that to herself, even.

So he stayed away, occupying himself with work and catching up on time with David and Robin and Belle, determined to prove to himself he wasn't a lovesick fool with an idiotic hope of a future Emma would resist at every turn. And though she made no attempt to see him, she resumed her usual pattern of answering text messages promptly, complete with an indecipherable set of emojis.

Really, why on earth did she feel the need to send him bloody cat faces of all things? Neither of them were capable of keeping so much as a goldfish alive, and she had other options.

Killian was too relieved at the sign of things returning to normal to bother asking.

But come Monday morning, with Emma due back in the office, his gut churned with an odd mix of excitement and apprehension. It wasn't so different from the sensation he got before a big raid, adrenaline doing its job to mitigate his fears.

Some days seeing Emma wasn't so different from going into battle, after all.

She was already present when he arrived, striding into the conference room to find Regina and Emma in the midst of a heated argument. Ruby and Graham stood to the side, but from the way Emma's eyes darted toward each of them, they were far from innocent bystanders.

"I'm telling you, Regina, I can do this! We plan it out, and we do it right, but I can get back into Gold's circle, and…"

"Like hell," Killian snapped before he thought better of it, the tips of his ears heating as he realized he'd spoken aloud. All eyes in the room locked onto him, Emma's narrowed to dangerous slits, all of her frustration suddenly aimed at him.

It did nothing to stem the rush of emotion that surged up to greet him at the mention of her return to Gold's. He didn't give her a chance to protest before he continued, "Have you bloody forgotten what he did to you last time he had you? Must I remind you the bastard does not take kindly to losing his toys? He's as likely to kill you as he is to…" He swallowed the rest of the horrific images his fears conjured up, fighting for control. It wouldn't do to loosen his frustrations on her in front of her team. "I won't be there to protect you, Emma. You'll be completely at his mercy." Panic clawed at Killian's throat at the very thought, warring with his churning emotions. It was his own damn fault his cover was blown – if he'd been thinking straight that day at Gold's, focusing on the assignment and not Emma, perhaps he would have considered that. But he hadn't, and now here he was with no one to blame but himself.

But even if he could go back in with her, he didn't want Emma anywhere near Gold. Not posing as Emily. Not without backup and a gun and the full might of the FBI behind her. Maybe BPD too, just for good measure.

"I'll figure it out, give him a reason to think it wasn't my choice. He knew the last place was raided. We can say I was arrested, and I've only just gotten out." Emma dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand, and it only made his temper burn hotter.

"Bollocks! You know as well as I do he has men on the inside. Between the guards and the prisoners, someone would easily be able to relay that you haven't spent a single bloody night in a cell. And even if through some elaborate scheme you could mend that problem, one of his men attacked you barely a bloody week ago on a street corner!" Killian growled, gripping the back of a chair to keep from grabbing her. How could she stand there speaking so casually of going back undercover at Gold's? He knew she wasn't stupid, but was she so blinded by her determination to get the bastard that she couldn't see how idiotic her plan was? After everything that had happened to her, and the bodies that had turned up, how did she think she would live through it again? Did she place _any_ value on her own life?

"You arrested–"

"And Gold's bloody lawyers got him out on bail!" Killian all but shouted before she could finish her sentence, throwing his hands up. He was dimly aware of Regina's eyes on him, that their argument was rapidly spiraling into something that did not belong in that conference room, but he was in no mood to care. Emma's boss could bugger off, for all he cared – no one else seemed to be nearly as concerned with Emma's safety as he was. "You can be certain he is aware you were on that street corner of your own bloody free will," he spat, every muscle in his body taut with tension.

"What if she wasn't?" Graham asked before Emma could retort. He took a step closer to her, and Killian could have cheerfully killed him for his next words, for how calm he was in contrast to Killian's seething temper. "What if after she got out that night, she ended up under someone else's control? Someone who doesn't keep her locked up in a house for his own use, but sends her out to work?"

"You're suggesting we put you in place as her new pimp?" Regina asked, expression unreadable as she watched her two agents, all but ignoring Killian. Dread sank his stomach like a stone when he realized Regina was asking questions – which meant she didn't intend to shoot the idea down outright.

"Yes. We put it out Emily is for sale, and wait for him to come get her. Once he pays for her, we get him on trafficking." Graham shrugged apologetically at Emma. "It will take time to set up, but this way one of us is there with her, and she isn't going back in alone."

Killian wanted to rail against the plan, but as much as he loathed it, Graham's idea wasn't a terrible one. It kept Emma out of Gold's hands, and it presented them an opportunity to get the cockroach out from under his rock.

But it also meant Killian was out of the picture. They didn't need him to run this op. He wouldn't be there in the event the whole thing went to hell. He had nothing to contribute, and even if he did, he didn't trust himself, not with the way his anger throbbed in his veins. His emotional response to Emma's tactical proposal – pure, burning emotion – was terrifyingly familiar. As it was, he was struggling to control his breathing, the full reality of the scene he'd just caused catching up to him.

If he couldn't keep it together in a perfectly safe conference room, he no longer trusted himself to make sound decisions. He might as well have been right back in the desert, arguing with Milah about her safety, irrational with anger and fear. He'd made the wrong decision that day, and she'd been killed. He needed to remove himself from the situation before he got Emma killed too, but why did it have to be bloody Graham who went in with her?

He opened his mouth to suggest Ruby pose as a madame instead, but snapped it shut before the words could escape. What reason did he have to send Ruby in Graham's place beyond his own infuriating jealousy?

"It seems you won't be needing me, then," he finally said, directing the words to Regina and ignoring Emma's sharp stare. "I'll leave you to sorting the details."

"You're going?" Emma blurted out, something all too like that moment in the hallway outside her door lurking in her stare. "You just got here."

It should have soothed him that she had even noticed he was about to leave, but instead it only irritated him further. Now she cared whether he stayed or went? Now his bloody opinion mattered, when it was all but decided? She hadn't given a damn that this plan of hers terrified him into the marrow of his bones, but she wanted him to stick around to determine how it would be done?

"Thank you, Killian," Regina said when he remained silent, an edge in her voice. Her stare settled on Emma, hard and unyielding though she continued to speak to him. "You've been a tremendous wealth of knowledge. I'll call Nolan at the end of the day to let him know you've fulfilled your obligations to the FBI. We appreciate your service."

The dismissal came as a punch to the gut, the air leaving Killian's lungs in one terrible moment. He had merely meant to leave for the day, not to go back to BPD for good, but Regina evidently had other plans. It was impossible to miss the censure she directed at Emma, a silent conversation continuing between the two women even as he stood there, each second an endless hour of tense silence.

"Aye," he finally managed to say, nodding to Graham and Ruby stiffly. There was no sense in arguing it. Hadn't he just told himself he was in no place to make decisions regarding Emma's safety? "It's been a pleasure. Do feel free to call on me at any time." He turned to leave, not knowing what to say to Emma in front of the others. He would have to sort that out another time.

"Please turn your credentials into security on your way out," Regina called after him. He muttered a reply, not bothering to turn around as he put one foot in front of the other until he found himself in front of the elevator.

It was a blow he should have expected. After all, he'd been of little use to the FBI as of late. The knowledge he had to share was written in reports and files, and any agent could do the sort of research he'd been doing the last week or two. He wasn't an agent – he was a cop. It was time to go back to his own world.

Even if the very thought of not helping to plan for every contingency, every twist of Gold's slippery plots and plans, sent bile into the back of his throat. Regina was right to send him away for that more than anything – emotions had no place in tactical decisions. He had already learned that lesson once the hard way, so no matter how much he wanted to turn around and argue that he could still be of use, he signed the paperwork that terminated his access to the FBI.

Drained and heavy with the ache of uselessness, Killian turned for home. With little else to occupy his day, he walked, blocks and blocks of Boston's sidewalks eventually leading him home exhausted after a stop at the local bar. But it wasn't enough to give him what he wanted – bone-crushing weariness to drown out the cacophony of thoughts screaming over one another in a constant loop.

He had abandoned Emma to Gold. He had given up.

He was doing the right thing in walking away. He couldn't be trusted to protect her.

The end of their professional relationship didn't mean the end of whatever else simmered between them. Perhaps it would help, not having to work together. It would certainly be a lot less pressure on Emma.

Except it also made him a lot easier to avoid.

There was nothing to be done about it while she was at work. He would take the afternoon to gather his thoughts and cool his temper, and then he would go to her tonight. If she let him in, they stood a chance at a future. And if she shut him out, well, he would have to try again.

The sudden pounding on his door stopped him halfway to his couch, turning back to regard the metal with apprehension. "Who the bloody hell…" he muttered as he moved toward the noise. It was the middle of the afternoon. He wasn't even supposed to be at home, and yet someone was banging on the door as though the sky was falling.

Wrenching the door back, he found himself stunned for the second time that day. Emma stood in the hall, her cheeks flushed and her hair wind tossed. "Hi," she said when he didn't speak, shifting her weight nervously.

-x-

He looked like hell.

As much as Killian Jones could, anyway. Bloodshot eyes, hair sticking out in every direction as though he'd spent a great deal of time outside in the wind. But more than any of that, he was muted, as though someone had dumped a bucket of water over his spark. No flirting, no mischief – just tired.

Emma didn't quite know what to do with the man staring back at her from his doorway. _At least he's wearing a shirt?_ Swallowing a groan at her useless thoughts, she waited for him to say something, anything, but he just kept looking at her with a haunted glaze in his eyes. "Hi," she finally said, feeling stupid and shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Maybe she shouldn't have come. She wasn't even entirely sure why she was there in the first place.

Except that was a lie. She knew why. Killian had walked out of that conference room without so much as looking at her, his proud shoulders slumped in defeat. It would have been worrisome even without the contrast to his initial reaction, the fire with which he'd argued against her idea. She didn't really like that he had all but called her an idiot, but there was something about the almost desperate concern for her wellbeing that she couldn't ignore.

She hadn't so much made a decision to go after him as she had gotten in her car and ended up parked outside his building, staring up at the windows wondering what was going on in his head.

"What are you doing here?" he asked quietly, and she heard much more than she wanted to in the question. The words were blunt, yet vulnerable in a way she didn't expect from him. But more than anything, she heard sheer bafflement, as though he truly had no idea what she would be doing on his doorstep.

Emma had asked herself the same question, but from his lips, it tore through her. "How can you even…" She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and gathering what little patience she had left. It had been torture watching him walk away from her the night at her apartment, and the morning's reenactment had been worse. She'd had a lot of time to think while sitting alone in her apartment the last week, and she didn't know what she was or wasn't doing with him, but she knew enough that she didn't care for this version of him. She wanted the Killian who invaded her space and asked her questions he shouldn't; she wanted the Killian who cried out for her in his sleep and kept her safe in his arms even when she fought tooth and nail to keep her distance.

Even if he did piss her off half the time.

"How can I what?" He hadn't moved from his spot in the doorway, but when she opened her eyes, he'd folded his arms over his chest and widened his stance, feet firmly planted. His expression was carefully blank, but he couldn't hide the embers in his deep blue stare, all the emotion of his tirade in the conference room flaring back to life. "How can I _what_ , Swan?" His temper bled through as he repeated himself, the question a low growl, and Emma lost the tenuous grip on her own emotions.

"How can you even ask me what I'm doing here?" she demanded, pushing past him into the apartment and whirling around as the door slammed behind them. "You left! You didn't say a damn word to me and you just left!"

"Isn't that what you wanted, darling? For me to _get out_?"

She swallowed hard, shoving away the guilt and regret that came with the memory of that night between them. It had been plain she'd hurt him, but it wasn't until that moment, the endearment sharpened to a knife, that she fully realized how much damage she'd done. The worst part was she hadn't wanted him to leave – she had wanted him to wrap his arms around her and do it all over again.

It had terrified her, and unable to protect herself any other way, she had lashed out and removed the problem from the equation. She'd bitten the inside of her cheek bloody as he'd gathered his things, her desire for him warring against the absolute certainty he would hurt her far more than Neal ever had if she let him into her life. It had been better to make him hate her than risk that kind of pain again.

Except he didn't hate her. He accepted her apology with far more grace than she deserved, and then he'd allowed her into his bed and shared his secrets.

"I…" She stopped, staring at the floor. How was she supposed to tell him any of that? It would expose her as a fraud in an instant – there would be no going back. He would know her feigned indifference was a lie she told herself, and he would wedge himself into her heart so deeply she'd never be free of him. "You just left," she finally said, knowing she was repeating herself, willing him to understand.

"What the bloody hell else did you want me to do? Regina all but threw me out, and you plainly didn't want my opinion, so…"

"You all but threw yourself out! You said you weren't needed. Not her. Not me. You. And even before that, you dismissed my idea without even hearing it!" she protested. Her emotions had her backed into a corner, and Killian's fury left her scrambling for purchase, clawing for a foothold of any kind. It was easier to retreat behind her walls than it was to simply admit she didn't want him to walk away from her.

"Because it's damned reckless and foolish!" His eyes narrowed, frustration snarling and snapping through every word. "He broke your bloody wrist! What do you think…" He stopped suddenly, all but collapsing against the door, his breathing ragged. "I told you, Emma, I can't lose you," he whispered, a man confessing his greatest weakness with pain in his eyes.

"You're not going to lose me. We have a plan…"

"Gold is dangerous. You're underestimating him," he replied without looking at her, weariness coating every word. "You're walking into a viper's den."

"The job is dangerous. It's always been dangerous." Her voice rose with her temper, and she stalked across the room, standing toe to toe with him. She didn't know if she wanted to kiss him or slap him, but whatever their personal circumstances, she was good at her job. He had no right to question her, no right to insinuate she didn't know what she was doing. "This is what we signed up for, a life out on the edge of a cliff with one foot over at all times. You should know that as well as anyone. You've done deep cover assignments. You know…"

"I know the job is dangerous, love. You forget I've buried a number of good men." He sighed, finally meeting her eyes without flinching, swallowing the old hurts in a clear signal that he didn't wish to discuss the statement further. His breath warm on her cheek, he raised his hand as if he were going to touch her, but dropped it only a moment later. "There is a difference between the job and being reckless," he said with infuriating calm, but a twitch along his jaw revealed how tightly laced he was keeping himself. "I know why I'm here, same as you. But don't think you've fooled me into…"

"Tell me," she cut in, jabbing her finger against his chest, the muscle tense beneath her touch. The inexplicable urge to push him took over, trampling reason as she drove against his restraint. She wanted to see his true face, the real Killian behind the careful control and precise words. She'd gotten a glimpse of him once before, the wildness of his desires and the burn of emotion in his eyes right before he'd kissed her. She wanted to see it again, see him as unrestrained and raw as she felt. "What makes you put your life on the line? Because I guarantee you, however you feel about it, that certainty you have that your life is worth it, it's not any different for me. I know why I'm on that edge. Do you?"

"I've told you my reasons." She wanted him to fight her, to validate her turbulent emotions with a response in kind, but despite the grim set of his features, his voice was unexpectedly soft. This time when he raised his hand, he didn't stop himself from brushing a strand of her hair back from her cheek, callused fingertips grazing her skin.

"Milah." The woman's name tasted of ash on her tongue, bitter with jealousy for a woman long dead. "Right. The woman you couldn't save, so now you want to save everyone else."

"Don't." He didn't yell, but it would have been better if he had. The cold command of that single word tore through her, but rational thought wasn't on her side.

"Don't what?" she asked, challenging him to fight back, to push her the way he usually did. She wanted a sign that she was under his skin as powerfully as he was under hers. Maybe then it wouldn't be quite so much like jumping out of a plane without a parachute to risk being with him, to take a chance that whatever simmered between them was more than a fireball waiting to explode.

Killian scanned her face, quick darts of his eyes back and forth. She hadn't moved, her chest nearly touching his, the heat of his body up against hers. With his back to the door, it was easy to imagine she had him trapped, but she knew all too well he would only stay where he was as long as he wished to.

Lifting his hand again, he traced the outline of the bruise hidden beneath her makeup, the concealer doing its job on the worst of it. It didn't hurt anymore, not that he was doing anything beyond grazing his fingertips over her cheek, just like he had the night he'd left her in the hallway outside her apartment. "Don't attempt to make this about her when it is about you and I." Despite the tension radiating from him, the words remained level.

Emma's chest tightened, unprepared for the emotion behind the statement. It was too much, and despite herself, despite wanting to reach out and grab what he was offering, her kneejerk reaction was the same as it always was – protect herself. "There is no you and I?" She hated the tremor she could hear in her own voice. She meant to be firm, to leave no room for argument, but it came out bordering on a question.

He laughed – a sharp, brittle laugh – but his fingers threaded into her hair, his thumb stroking along her neck. "You keep telling yourself that, love. Maybe you'll start to believe it."

"You have no claim on me. We had sex, but that doesn't mean…"

He dropped his hand as though she'd scalded him, eyes hardening as his control wavered. "Aye, we had sex, and you felt something. I knew it then when you couldn't even look at me while you threw me out of your bed, and I know it now. Christ, Emma, I'm not Graham, or any of the–"

"Graham? What the hell does Graham have to do with anything?"

"You trust him with your life, even after he…" Killian cut himself off, shaking his head and muttering under his breath.

"After he what?" she demanded when it became clear he wasn't going to say anything else, jaw set in a stubborn silence.

"Never mind. It's not…just never mind. What is it you would like from me, Emma?"

"Seriously? Is that why you left this morning? Because Graham is going with me instead of you? What the hell, Killian! He's a good agent, and…" The morning had been a rollercoaster of emotions already, a constant war between her irrational temper and terrifyingly fierce desires. Emma was struggling to keep it together, and failing miserably. She didn't want to talk to him anymore. She wanted him to kiss her, to stop this argument as he'd stopped their last. She wanted him to distract her from the emotional upheaval that came with being in his presence with the familiar slide of skin against skin.

She cursed, finally turning away from him and pacing into his living room. He was silent behind her, a figure carved from granite against the door, waiting for her to finish her accusations, not refuting anything she'd said so far.

Emma stopped her pacing, turning to face Killian with sudden clarity. "You're jealous."

"Do you wish for me to deny it?" He watched her approach, a myriad of emotions tossing across the endless blue of his eyes. "Do you wish to hear me say it's bloody frustrating to know he'll be there to protect you when I can't? To know you put your life in his hands without even blinking an eye, but you deny…" He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing with the motion. "What do you want, Emma? Why are you truly here?"

He'd asked her that several times already, and she had yet to answer him. It was impulse that drove her into his arms, instinct that had her threading her fingers into his hair and pulling his mouth down to hers. She didn't know how to tell him what she wanted – hell, she wasn't even sure what she wanted beyond that moment. But she'd wanted him to kiss her since the night they'd spent playing darts and stumbling into each other's secrets, and she was tired of waiting.

His arms came around her instantly, pulling her into him with a groan that may have been pleasure or pain. His kiss was rough, a release of pent up emotion and desire. She was barely aware of him moving until her shoulders were pressed to the door instead of his, her head falling back against it as he used the leverage to press against her. One kiss chased the other, teeth nipping and hands wandering.

Killian broke the kiss, gasping for air, but he remained close, his breath washing over her. She expected him to speak, to question her and her motivations, to lay down rules, but his lips only brushed ever so lightly over her jaw. He kept kissing her, whispers against her skin that felt like promises between lovers.

She didn't stop him, though she knew she should. It was too slow, too tender, even as he gripped her hips to lift her, anchoring her to the door so he could continue his path down her throat and across her collarbones. One hand slipped between them, and then he was unbuttoning her shirt, following the path of exposed skin with his lips and tongue.

But as long as he was kissing her, he wasn't accusing her of recklessness, or reminding her of the past – he wasn't staring at her with enough emotion to crash over every wall she'd ever built around herself. So she leaned back, arching her spine as he pushed the cup of her bra aside and took her nipple into the damp heat of his mouth, teasing with a languid touch that left her aching.

The noise of protest that escaped her as he released her breast got his attention, dark eyes studying her for a long, serious moment. Her breath caught as he held her captive, desire and determination in his stare. He seemed to come to a conclusion, his lips spreading into a wicked smile as brought his lips to her ear. "Tell me what you want from me, Emma." It was nothing like the other times he'd asked – this wasn't a question. It was a sensual demand filled with erotic promises. A shiver ran down her spine, her legs tightening around him as his tongue snaked out to trace the sensitive spot high on her neck, his breath warm.

"I want you," she managed to reply, her own voice ragged. He hummed his approval, returning his lips to hers for a lingering kiss. It was obvious he was in no hurry, but his grip on her thigh was firm, the pressure of his hips insistent. Her own hips jerked in response, the hard ridge of his arousal pressed to the seam of her jeans creating just the sort of friction she desperately needed.

But before she could do it again, he pulled back from her, gently urging her legs to the ground. "What's wrong?" she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. She'd kissed him not knowing what else to do to stop their argument, unable to find words to express herself adequately. Killian could be as stubborn as she was, and while she wasn't exactly surprised she'd been able to distract him, a part of her was waiting for him to realize it.

She didn't want to fight with him. Not about Graham or Gold or whatever was happening between them. She just wanted to lose herself for a little while in the scent of his skin and the crackling heat between them. She'd deal with the rest later, when her pulse wasn't roaring through her veins, and Killian wasn't looking at her like he might devour her where she stood.

"We're not doing this here," he ground out, desire dripping from every word as he ran his hands over her body in a direct contradiction to what he'd said.

"What? You can't be ser–" She hadn't finished her sentence before he was on her again, one hand in her hair and the other arm banded around her. He kissed her like it would be his last chance, and by the time he let her go, her legs had gone to jelly, her thoughts too scattered to stitch together into any semblance of sense.

"I meant, we're not doing this _here_." Killian nodded at the door at her back, his breaths short and shallow. The color of his lips had deepened from their kisses, already slightly swollen. "I want you in my bed."

"Oh." The heat of his stare boiled in her blood, her pulse throbbing between her legs. He was watching her, intense as ever, but waiting, and Emma belatedly realized he was waiting for her to agree. Not giving herself time to second guess the decision, she nodded, taking the hand he offered.

Killian smiled, the expression unexpectedly soft despite the raging lust in his eyes. He brought their clasped hands to his lips, kissing along her knuckles with his eyes locked on hers. She wanted to look away, desperate to break free of the bond tightening between them, but he held her captive, slowly beginning to walk backwards.

Anxiety flared up as she followed him, memories of the last night she'd spent in his arms assaulting her. Their conversation had been deeply personal, opening up old wounds and deep scars. What would happen in his bed between them today? Would he want her to stay? She couldn't exactly throw him out of his own apartment. Did she have the strength to walk away from him again if he got too close?

It had been easier in the dark, when she couldn't necessarily see the play of every emotion on him in the beams of sunlight filtering through the blinds. But there was no mistaking how he looked at her as they entered his bedroom – no other man had ever looked at her like that.

"Do you want to stop?" he asked, his lips hovering over hers as though he could sense her unease. Her heart ached at the question, at his ability to read her even now. She shook her head, closing the distance between them to kiss him, working on the buttons of his vest. He hesitated, but Emma didn't want to talk anymore.

"No more questions." She pushed the vest off his shoulders, starting on the buttons of his shirt without pause. She wanted his skin on hers, for sensation to overwhelm thought.

"I'm not quite certain about that," he murmured, leaning closer as he shrugged out of his shirt and turned his attention to hers, making quick work of the remaining buttons and leaving her in her bra. He ran his hands up the flat plane of her stomach, over her ribs until his palms rubbed over smooth satin. "I may have a few questions."

"Too bad." She gasped as his touch grew firmer, her bra pushed out of the way as he kneaded the tender flesh beneath. He chuckled darkly, reaching around her to unfasten the garment and send it to the floor with the rest of their clothes.

He nudged her back toward the bed, the scruff on his cheeks dragging along her breasts as he moved down her body, a trail of open-mouthed kisses that meandered along her ribs and belly. In the light of day, every scar must have been visible to him, and it took her a moment to realize he was marking each of them – a kiss for the time a knife had nicked her, the sweep of his tongue over the jagged circle left by a bullet. Countless more peppered her body, from the innocence of childhood carelessness to the mark of her craft, Emma's skin was far from perfect – Emma was far from perfect.

Killian seemed determine to prove otherwise.

Her breath hitched as he undid her jeans, dragging the zipper down slowly. Her hips pressed against him, a silent plea to continue, but he merely skimmed his nose across the exposed skin just north of the lace still covering her. "Patience, love," he murmured against her skin, his breath raising goosebumps. "I've thought about this a great deal."

Emma didn't want patience. She wanted Killian naked and beneath her, wanted to watch pleasure ripple across his face and hear her name spill from his lips. She nearly told him so, but then he was peeling her jeans off her legs and taking her underwear with them, rising off the bed long enough to remove them and her boots.

The look on his face was downright predatory as he raked his eyes over her. It should have made her self-conscious, lying naked in his bed while he stood there still in his jeans, but Emma dropped her hands to her sides, letting him look. Where once she may have felt exposed under Killian's stare, power hummed through her veins. "Come here," she beckoned, her voice low and sultry and almost unrecognizable as she let her legs fall open. "Without the jeans."

Emma's eyes did some wandering of their own as he stripped off the remainder of his clothes, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as he finally looked up. A flush trailed in the wake of his stare, an invisible caress over every inch of her exposed skin. Unable to wait any longer, her hand caught his, yanking just hard enough to tumble him into the bed with her.

"See something you like?" he teased, but didn't give her a chance to answer before claiming a demanding kiss. He braced himself on one elbow above her, but his free hand slid along her side, down over her hip. She tensed in anticipation, nearly desperate for his touch, but his fingers danced along the inside of her thigh instead. Each kiss brought his hand higher, until his knuckles brushed up against her in a touch far too light to be satisfying.

Killian broke the kiss with a curse, finally giving her a taste of what she wanted with a deft hand between her legs. She rocked against him with a low moan, hoping he would take the hint and groaning in frustration when he pulled away.

It was short-lived, his confident smirk filled with lustful mischief the last thing she saw before her eyes closed, Killian's mouth on her breast once more. But he didn't linger long, and by the time his tongue slid inside her, every muscle in her body was taut with need. Wound as tightly as she was, it didn't take much to send her over the edge, her back arching with her release even as Killian's arm kept her hips pinned to the bed, stroking her as she rode out the waves of pleasure.

"Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do that?" he asked with a light kiss several inches below her bellybutton. "Some nights I've thought of little else but what I would do to you if I had you naked in my bed."

"Show me." She didn't care how breathless she sounded, as though another woman spoke the words. He may have been giving her a reprieve to recover, but desire burned bright in his eyes, her skin tingling with sensual power.

"Are you certain, love?" He stretched over her, his weight once again in his elbows as he bent to kiss her. His arousal heavy against her hip, she reached between them to take him in hand. He swore against her lips, the sound sending shivers down her spine. She hooked one leg around his thigh, leverage to urge him into rolling onto his back in a silent answer he couldn't mistake.

The last time she'd been on top of him like this, it had been at Gold's, and she had been fighting to separate herself from the moment, desperate to retain a measure of her dignity. The memory came back unbidden, and Killian must have seen it in her eyes. He sat up slowly, gathering her into his arms and kissing her over and over, chaste kisses against her lips alone, one arm snug around her waist as the other hand threaded into her hair.

There was an intimacy to the position that she'd never have allowed at Gold's, and it grounded her, reminded her she was there with Killian and that she very much wanted to be. Slowly, the memory faded and the present took over, her hands leaving Killian's shoulders to wander his body, listening for the hitches in his breath and the quiet groans of pleasure her touch wrought.

This time, when she pushed him flat onto the bed and rolled the condom over his length, she did it with a wicked smile and a firm grip before lifting herself above him. She held his stare the entire time, one hand on his chest for balance but the other tangled with his. His grip tightened as her hips met his, eyes snapping shut as he stilled her with his other hand, breaths uneven. The man looked utterly undone, and she'd barely started.

With a satisfied smile, she began to move.

There hadn't been time the night in her apartment to savor it, to flush with the heat of Killian's eyes on her, watching her. It was a rush to watch him in return, to find the exact tilt of her hips that made his fingers dig into her skin, holding her there for a second longer before releasing her. It went on and on, neither of them in a hurry as the shadows lengthened across the room unnoticed.

Besides, Emma knew herself. She had to enjoy it while she could, because with every thrust of his hips, with every touch, he was chipping away at the barriers she'd built around herself. If she let him in, there was no telling how far his reach could go, how deeply he could bury himself in her heart. She was going back undercover soon, and though Graham's plan sounded simple, Emma knew it wouldn't be as easy as staging one meet and being done with it. Gold would never personally show up to retrieve her. She'd have to go back to whatever hellhole he was hiding in now.

She'd only brought that up after Killian had left. Graham hadn't believed her, but he'd agreed to contingency plans. And those plans…well, it could be a long time before she saw Killian again – a long time before they could do this again.

"Emma?" Killian's hands tightened on her hips, momentarily holding her in place. "Are you all right, love?" His chest rose and fell with his rapid breaths, his cheeks flushed, but his brows were furrowed as he looked up at her with concern. "Do you want to stop?"

Pushing away the grim thoughts and unsettling panic they had brought on, Emma refocused all of her attention on Killian. "No, I'm fine. Never better," she lied, smoothing her hands over his chest and tilting her hips in an attempt to redirect his attention. She slid her hands down over his skin, eventually lacing her fingers through his to release his tight grip.

"Emma…" She heard the reproach in his voice, could see the wheels turning as he studied her. Squeezing his fingers, she pushed his hands back down to the mattress, rolling her hips. He groaned as she moved over him, and whatever argument he'd had in mind was lost. Shoving aside the distraction of emotion and what the future had in store, Emma closed her eyes and let her body take over.

Her rhythm became erratic as she moved faster against him, pleasure tingling through her veins as he met her thrust for thrust, mouth and hands winding her tighter and tighter. She was so lost she didn't fight him as he rolled her onto her back, his lips crashing into hers in a searing, claiming kiss as he buried himself deeper inside her.

He seemed to struggle with his control once he was above her, beginning with slow, deep strokes that quickly became less steady before returning to the maddening torture. Their kisses grew sloppy, Killian eventually nuzzling into her neck as he snapped his hips, her name a jumble of breathless pants against her skin.

And when her release finally came on hard and fast, his name was the only coherent syllables she could manage as he tensed against her before joining her in a boneless tangle.

They didn't speak right away, each catching their breath. Sunlight fell in a beam across his chest, shimmering where it hit the fine sheen of sweat covering his skin. He'd rolled to his side next to her, still holding her snug as he kissed a delicate path along her shoulder and neck. "Don't move," he finally whispered, getting out of bed to clean up.

Emma didn't bother mentioning she probably couldn't have moved even if she wanted to, not right away. She would have to go soon – even if she wasn't expected back at work, with the haze of lust was wearing off, reality was sinking in.

She couldn't stay.

Killian returned with a washcloth, but she snatched it from his hands before he could touch her with it. What was she doing, letting him make love to her? Because that's what it had been, as assuredly as the time in her apartment had been a quick fuck.

"Please don't go." He didn't reach for her, didn't try to pull her back into his arms, but instead sat almost gingerly on the side of the bed. The openness of his expression made him far more vulnerable than his nakedness. Emma couldn't meet his eyes. "I can see you walling yourself back up, love. I wish you wouldn't."

"I really should go," she mumbled, tugging the sheet higher to hide behind. He may not have minded sitting beside her in nothing but his skin, but embarrassment crept in far faster than she'd have liked as the glow of their passions faded.

"May I ask why?"

She wanted to say no. She wanted to snap and spit and hiss like the stray she was – but he didn't deserve that. He hadn't deserved it the first time; he _really_ didn't deserve it a second time. "I just…can't," she said lamely, devoting far more attention to cleaning herself up than the act required, awkwardly twisting herself up in the sheet in an effort to keep covered.

"Can't or won't?" he asked quietly, a hint of frustration in the question. He was obviously trying to keep it from showing, but Emma couldn't entirely blame him. She wasn't an easy person to be around. That was a large part of why so many of her bedroom liaisons rarely lasted more than a night.

And that was why Killian was the first man in a very, very long time to make love to her. Her chest tightened at the realization, but she swallowed against it. Her body was still tingling with the pleasure he'd given her. She could keep herself from panicking about what it all meant for a few minutes longer.

"Emma, look at me, please." It was a gentle request, but every emotion was laid bare when she finally worked up the nerve to meet his gaze. She knew it had to be intentional – Killian was too good at schooling his features to show so much without knowing it.

He wasn't hiding anything about how he felt from her. He was asking for the same in return.

Drawing a deep breath, her eyes fell to the washcloth still in her hands as she twisted it between nervous fingers. Finally, she shrugged in what might have been one of the most honest moments of her adult life and said, "I don't know how to stay."

"Emma…" He did move then, sliding back beneath the sheet and gathering her into his arms before yanking the bedding over them both. It felt too good to let him hold her against his chest, cradled there like something precious and worth caring for. What was wrong with a little physical comfort? Just because they'd had sex again, phenomenal sex, it didn't have to mean anything if she lingered in his arms just a little bit longer. The washcloth all but forgotten, she let it drop to the floor beside the bed and gave herself over to the heady pleasure of being in Killian's arms.

His gentle strokes across her spine soothed her racing thoughts, quieting the doubts that beckoned from the dark recesses of her mind. She focused on Killian instead, the drag of his callused fingers over her skin, the sweep of his touch from the curve of her bottom to the top of her spine. She didn't think about how easily she let him distract her, and she was asleep before the lie could catch up to her.

It was dusk when they woke, and despite herself, Emma let him talk her into staying for dinner. She should have known when she picked up his shirt from the floor instead of redressing in her own clothes that she had already accepted an invitation for more than a meal, but she was still somewhat surprised when dinner turned into a movie, which turned into a return to his bed that left her pleasantly worn out. Her attempt to leave was weak, a whispered plea and heart-stopping kiss from Killian all the convincing it took for her to snuggle into his arms and let sleep claim her a second time.

She woke again just before dawn, the pale blue light of the approaching day pushing against the curtains. Killian was still asleep, dark eyelashes brushing against his cheeks as she studied him in the faint light. She needed to leave this time, now, while he couldn't talk her into staying with gentle words or seductive touches.

But when she began to move away, he reached for her, drawing her back in. For a moment she thought he'd woken, but his breaths remained even, his body heavy with sleep. A flash of worry cut through her that he was having another nightmare and clinging to her, but his features were smooth and there was none of the desperation in his grip there had been that night. No, this touch was filled with something else entirely, and that should have brought on panic as sure as the sun continued to rise.

When it didn't, Emma burrowed closer and let herself fall back asleep before she could think too heavily on why that was.


	12. Chapter 12

Emma already knew she'd made a mistake by the time she reported back to work the next morning, a not entirely unpleasant soreness between her legs and the ghost of Killian's touch on her skin. She should have left when she'd had the chance in the small hours of the morning – should have gone back to her apartment and convinced herself she would never see Killian Jones again.

But she hadn't. Some stupid, idiotic part of her had wanted to stay, had wanted to curl into him and savor the security and comfort of his embrace just a little while longer. She'd meant to be gone before he woke, but instead, he'd been the one to wake her.

She blushed, fighting the urge to fidget in her seat. She did _not_ fidget in briefings…but then again, she usually didn't spend her time in the conference room thinking about the sinful delight that was waking to Killian's mouth on her. She wasn't even sure if she'd been entirely awake when he'd slid into her, but every nerve had come alive as it had gone on, the rasp of his stubble against her cheek, the ripple of muscle beneath her palms as he moved within her, the rumble of pleasure in the back of his throat…

 _Stop. It._

Forcing herself to breathe normally, Emma focused her attention on Regina. They were trying to figure out the best approach for Graham's cover, and with great dismay, she realized the plan being outlined wasn't going to take a few days – it would be weeks. Logically, she should have known that, should have anticipated they couldn't just magic Graham up a cover for a job like this, not up against Gold's endless networks and spies.

But she'd convinced herself last night that it had been the last time she'd be with Killian, that she'd be undercover again soon, and it wouldn't matter what she did or didn't want. She'd let herself stay because it was impossible to keep pretending she didn't want him, but there was an expiration date, a failsafe to keep her from getting too heavily invested.

She told herself she wouldn't call him, choosing instead to go out with Ruby for drinks after work. Neither of them brought up Killian, though Ruby's knowing smirk said plenty all on its own. Still, her friend was gracious enough to keep her mouth shut, and by the time Emma fell into her bed, she almost believed the lie that it was far too late to call him, anyway.

But by the third day, Killian had apparently had enough of her vague responses to texts and avoidance of phone calls. He was waiting at her door when she got home, arms folded over his chest, his expression hovering between annoyance and amusement when she stopped dead in her tracks and gaped at him in surprise. "Avoiding me, love?" he asked in greeting, not moving from his place casually propped up against the wall beside the door. The question hovered somewhere between a joke and an accusation.

"No," she lied, avoiding his stare and focusing on opening her door rather than the way his jeans hugged his thighs or the way the scent of him curled around her. "I've been busy."

"Bollocks. Do us both the courtesy of not lying about it. I believe I deserve that much," he said, voice even, but the words tore through her sharp as a knife anyway. He followed her into her apartment without invitation, the door falling shut behind him. Emma didn't turn around, not wanting to see the hurt lurking in his eyes, the confusion she knew was entirely her fault.

Had the situation been reversed, she might have shown up at his door demanding answers, too. At least, she liked to think she would have, that the years of pain and loneliness would have prompted her forward, not back – even if deep down, she knew she was too damaged to expose herself the way he had.

In any case, it wasn't as though she could blame him for turning up and demanding answers. What woman slept in a man's bed, woke in his arms seemingly content, and then dodged his calls for days? Not that there had been any _seemingly_ about it – Emma had been content in his arms. More than content.

That was the problem.

"Emma…" His hand was gentle on her shoulder, but it was enough to twist her around, her boots nearly touching his with how close he stood. "Talk to me. Please."

She breathed in slowly, willing herself to remain in control as she lifted her gaze to his. Deep, bottomless blue stared back at her, intense but tired, faint smudges beneath showing how little he'd been sleeping. It was all she could do not to wince, her fingers rising of their own volition to brush against his skin.

He caught her hand in his, pressing a kiss to her open palm, his silence full of questions Emma didn't want to hear, never mind their answers. It would be so much simpler to take a step closer and kiss him, to avoid talking and give into the only thing between them she really understood.

As though he could read her thoughts, his expression darkened. His tongue slipped out, rubbing along his bottom lip as all the air disappeared from the room. She might have said his name, or he might have said hers – she didn't know or care as she rose onto her toes to meet him halfway.

He groaned against her lips, his palms flattening against the curve of her backside as he pulled her closer, heat rushing between her thighs. None of the reasons she'd been avoiding him seemed to matter anymore as one of his hands moved beneath her shirt, rough calluses on the delicate skin at her waist, up and over her ribs until he met lace.

Killian swore, releasing her without warning and stepping back. "This isn't why I sought you out this evening," he finally said, voice rough and breathless. He lifted one hand to his lips almost absently, brushing his thumb over his mouth as he stared at her.

Emma shrugged, taking a step closer and letting her eyes fall to his straining zipper with a small smile. "Doesn't look that way to me," she said, ignoring the simmering panic at his sudden retreat. He wanted to talk. She didn't. Talking would require more of her than she had to give.

He swore again, grabbing her wrists before she could touch him. "Don't. I…don't."

She jerked free, flushing in embarrassment. "If you don't want me, just say so," she snapped, rejection backing her into a corner she despised.

"You have no idea how bloody much I want you." His expression softened, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he watched her. The intensity of his stare made her nervous, and she couldn't help fidgeting, shifting her weight from foot to foot, waiting for him to explain himself.

"So what's the problem?" she asked when he remained silent, hating herself for the question as soon as it was out. It felt weak and pathetic even as the words left her lips, a plea for something she couldn't have.

"I don't believe in half-measures," he said eventually, speaking slowly as though each word was a carefully placed marker on a treacherous path.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"You know what it means."

"I really don't."

He closed the space between them, winding his fingers into her hair and leaning his forehead against hers. Emma wanted to shove him away, wanted to push him out the door before he said anything else. But instead she held perfectly still, breathing in the scent of leather and Killian, the remnants of his soap and the hint of sweat. "It means that I want you. And the evenings. And the mornings."

"I can't do that," she whispered, her chest tight with growing panic. He was too close, too intense – too many emotions lived in his demands. She took a step back, but he moved with her, not relinquishing his hold.

She expected an argument, not his low chuckle against her ear, the wash of his warm breath. "I do believe you did just a few days ago. Quite well, I might add."

He was close enough that his lips brushed her skin as he spoke. Emma shivered, her hands rising to his chest of their own accord, desire warring with her instinct to run. His stubble scraped against her jaw as he lowered his mouth to her neck, trailing barely-there kisses along the sensitive spots as her fingers fisted his shirt, attempting to draw him closer as panic gave way to lust. She could handle Killian with his mouth occupied. There was nothing complicated about the things he could do to her body, nothing terrifying when her eyes were closed and his tongue dragged across her skin.

But when he reached the collar of her shirt, he didn't push it aside. Instead he straightened, tilting her chin up. "What do you want from me, Emma?" She never had answered him the other day, not really. The question was far too serious for her liking despite his breathlessness, her mouth dry as she struggled to swallow. He was too vulnerable, too honest with his desires plain across his face. He didn't want just the superficial physical connection between them, no matter how hot it burned. It was all over his face, and in a flash her mind conjured up the memory of waking in his arms in the middle of the night, the security of his chest at her back.

But she didn't know how to put any of what she was feeling into words. "I want you," she said with a shrug, as though it was obvious. It was the same answer she'd given him the last time he'd asked the question. It had been good enough then, but she could see by the disappointment he couldn't hide that it wasn't going to work a second time.

"Is that so?" he asked softly, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. "What am I to you? A distraction? A lover?"

"I…don't know," she managed to get out, the push and pull of her thoughts threatening to tear her in two. He was more than a distraction, whether she wanted him to be or not. But a lover…there was _more_ to that, an intimacy she wasn't sure she'd ever had.

He took a shaky breath, stepping back from her and dropping his hand. "I should leave."

Emma started to nod, to agree with him before she could do something stupid like ask him to stay. But their eyes caught, and her breath stuck in her throat, a chasm opening in her chest. No man had ever looked at her the way Killian did, with such fierce and utter longing, and she still didn't know what he was or wasn't, but she didn't want him to slip through her fingers.

Her arms looped around his neck as she pulled him down, the kiss urgent and needy. She clung to him, terrified to let go, terrified to go on, but as his lips moved against hers, she was powerless to stop it. He was the one to pull away, her name harsh as it spilled off his tongue, a desperate plea for her to stop, for her to continue, she wasn't sure.

But she knew she didn't want to hear pain like that in his voice, not when it filled her name with such sadness and aching – not when it made it crystal clear she had hurt him, _was_ hurting him.

"Stay." She ran one hand up the back of his neck, her nails dragging across his scalp. His lips parted, brow furrowed, but before he could protest, she kissed him again, willed him to understand. She couldn't give him a label or a definition, but she wanted whatever it was they had in that moment. The future was too unpredictable – Emma had a knack for driving people away, and they worked dangerous jobs – but the play of his hands across her skin was something she had come to know and crave. She had weeks until her next assignment in the field. She could use that time to get him out of her system, to prove to herself that with enough time, he would reveal himself to be like every other man she'd gotten romantically entangled with beyond a night.

Emma didn't stop to consider the possibility of being wrong about him.

The low noise in his throat still held more pain than pleasure, but whatever had held him back snapped. Emma was in his arms, stumbling with him across the apartment and losing clothes as they went until she was falling onto her bed, Killian's bare skin on hers.

It wasn't until after, when he kissed her one last time as though he were drowning, that she realized every kiss, every touch, had been a goodbye. She should have been relieved – she wouldn't have to ask him to go, wouldn't have to talk about it anymore.

Instead, a void threatened to swallow her whole.

"You're leaving?" The question came out far more frantic than she'd intended, a different kind of panic gripping her when he didn't return to the bed after cleaning up.

He paused, jeans in hand and eyes finally meeting hers. "I thought to spare you the trouble of having to ask," he said quietly, looking away.

"No."

"No?"

"Come back to bed, Killian." She took a deep breath, struggling to conceal her own fears and emotions. "I'm not…I won't ever be…I can't give you everything you want, but I can give you nights." Another slow breath, in and out, the hope in his eyes pushing her forward. "And mornings." She smiled, a tentative, small thing as he continued to watch her, too many emotions to follow on his face. "You're pretty good at mornings."

He dropped the clothes in his hands, a grin breaking out across his features. "Just mornings?"

"I'm working with a pretty small sample size."

"Darling, there is nothing small about it," he said, his voice filled with gravel as he stalked toward the bed. The sheet fell away as she rose to meet him, kneeling on the edge of the mattress, skin tingling under his appreciative stare.

"Prove it," she whispered as his hands settled on her hips, fingers curling possessively around the curves of her body as she offered up a saucy smirk.

"I believe I just did, but if the lady insists." He bent to kiss her, the coarse hair on his chest rough against her tender breasts. It was slower the second time, the desperate edge softened into a tenderness in his touch she savored as much as she tried to ignore. She picked other things to concentrate on – the strength of his fingers as he held her hips in place, thrusting up into her; the coarse hair along the tops of his thighs where she gripped him for balance; the velvet of his tongue and sharp sting of his teeth as he teased first one nipple, then the other.

It was only the next morning, when she'd woken before him and begun to trace the line of his brows with the tip of her finger, watching him sleep, that her thoughts caught up with her and she realized just how dangerous Killian Jones could be.

-x-

"So, you and Killian, it's a thing now?"

Ruby's question tore Emma out of her thoughts, her cheeks flushing as she realized her friend had caught her zoning out in the middle of their favorite diner. "I didn't say that," she mumbled, staring at her plate of onion rings gone cold.

"I haven't seen you outside of work in weeks."

"I've been busy."

"Yeah, busy with all the sex. With Killian." Ruby arched a dark eyebrow across the table, amusement playing at her lips. "C'mon, Em, I've been good. I haven't asked you any questions. But a girl only has so much patience. Spill."

"There's nothing to tell." Her face grew hotter before she'd even finished her sentence, her skills of deception useless on Ruby. She didn't know what to tell her friend – mostly because she barely understood what was happening between her and Killian herself.

He'd woken to her touch that morning after he'd told her what he wanted, reading the panic that must have been in her eyes and, in typical Killian fashion, had known exactly what to say to soothe her. "I'm a patient man," he'd said, kissing her gently and gathering her close. "Mornings and evenings, love. The rest…" He'd sighed, his lips brushing her hair. "The rest we take as it comes."

She'd spent the next night alone, just to prove to herself she could. It had been a sleepless night, and when she woke in an empty bed, she'd refused to admit to herself she wished he were there – but by the middle of the following night, her feet had led her to his doorstep and into his arms.

They'd barely spent a night apart since.

He came to her more often than not, his hours swinging wildly as he resumed his police work. With Emma largely in the research phase of her assignment, her hours were far more predictable. She'd finally given him a key – purely for the practicality of not having to get out of bed when he arrived in the middle of the night. There was something far more appealing about waking up to Killian's naked skin pressed to hers than having to stumble half-asleep to the door to greet him.

She'd told him as much when she'd nervously placed the cool metal on the counter next to his cell phone and keys one morning, mumbling and avoiding his eyes – avoiding the amount of his things that had slowly found their way into her home, the travel mug in his hand chief among them. Emma didn't own travel mugs, and even if she did, she definitely wouldn't have a collection of various sailor puns emblazoned across her caffeine source. Killian, however, had no qualms about drinking from his _A Great Catch!_ mug – which she absolutely did not find adorable under any circumstances, especially not when he stood in her kitchen ready for work, gun and badge on his hip, with the ridiculous mug in his hands and shower-damp hair in his eyes.

"Does that mean I can expect to find you naked every night?" he'd asked, the only indication the key had an effect on him the sudden intake of breath before he spoke. When she'd looked up, he'd arranged his face into a lecherous leer, his free hand slipping over her hip to palm her backside. He was good, but she knew him and he couldn't entirely hide the trace of warmth lurking in his eyes. Yet somehow, he also knew _her_ – knew that if he made the key into something else, something she didn't want to think about, Emma would completely fall apart.

As the weeks went on, the thing that bound them together grew a life of its own, creeping vines threading their way through her so slowly, Emma barely noticed what had taken hold until the night she'd walked into his apartment to find him on the couch with a bag of frozen peas held to his face. The bag hid the worst of the deep, angry bruise on his jaw, but dried blood clung to his skin, and his bottom lip was split and swollen. "What the hell happened?" she'd demanded, worry and fear overwhelming her as she'd rushed to his side, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

The bastard had merely shrugged in response, his grin lopsided with half his face swollen. "Someone decided to have a go at me. Made my night interesting."

"Interesting?" Her voice had been shrill to her own ears, and she'd hated herself then. She knew the rush of adrenaline that came with a chase as well as anyone, knew that all things considered, a few bruises was nothing in their line of work. It wasn't as though he'd been wrong, but she had wanted to punch him herself for his nonchalance.

"Well, I suppose they did knock the handsome out of me a bit." His smile had softened as he'd tugged her onto his lap and pushed her hair away from her eyes.

"Not possible," she'd told him, kissing him gently where he wasn't bruised. Being in his arms, his body warm and whole under her, soothed the fear that had all but swallowed her when she'd first caught sight of him. "Not even Gold is that powerful."

He'd laughed at that, a quiet, low sound that brought a smile to her lips. But as silence had wrapped around them, his free hand stroking her back, Killian had managed to once again see through her. "I'm not going anywhere, love. I'm a survivor. Always have been." He'd been completely serious, holding her stare with such intensity she'd been the first to look away. Only then had he tried to kiss her, hissing in pain.

They hadn't had sex that night, but he'd still coaxed her into bed, his hands roaming beneath the borrowed shirt she wore. Emma had curled into his side, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat and struggling not to think too much about her reaction to his injury.

Or just how cozy she was in his bed, there for no other reason than the comfort of his body against hers.

"It's not just sex if it's been going on this long," Ruby said matter-of-factly, once again breaking into Emma's thoughts. She eyed her friend over the rim of her coffee mug, her lip curving into a teasing smile. "It's good that you're happy."

"It _is_ just sex," Emma replied instantly, clinging to the lie. They didn't go on dates – having drinks with his cop buddies or her FBI team didn't count. There were no romantic dinners at fancy restaurants or moonlit strolls or whatever the hell else a date consisted of. Killian made her dinner sometimes, but usually by the time they got to food, he'd had her naked already. It was only after they'd catch their breath that he'd ask if she was hungry with a grin, more often than not opting to head into the kitchen without a stitch of clothing. Emma claimed modesty, almost always stealing one of his shirts, secretly enjoying the scent of him wrapped around her just a little bit longer as she sat on the counter and admired the view. Not that the nights he planned to do more than reheat something and tugged on a pair of snug shorts – _must protect the best bits of me, Swan_ – were really any worse.

"It's been more than a month. No one has _just sex_ for that long."

Emma allowed herself a smug grin, determined to push Ruby off her line of questioning. "That's because they haven't slept with Killian."

Ruby laughed, brandishing one of her French fries. "You going to tell me anything more than 'he knows what he's about' this time?"

"I don't know what else to tell you. He…he's just really, really good. I don't have to think about it. He just seems to know what I want, what I'm in the mood for…" Emma trailed off, her blush returning as flashes of memory sparked, heat flaring to life between her thighs. She'd been in the mood for hard and fast last night, and Killian had given it to her. She'd collapsed into his arms by the end, pleasantly boneless as his kisses had turned sweet, his touch gentle as he'd offered up a smile that was all lazy contentment. "It's nice to be wanted."

"He can't keep his eyes or hands off you on the rare occasion you manage to grace us with your presence. If you don't know how much he wants you, you're not paying attention." Ruby paused, taking a sip of her coffee and watching Emma. "A man who looks at you like that isn't just looking for sex."

Emma studied her hot chocolate, swallowing past her suddenly tight throat. She pretended she didn't notice his longing looks, the tenderness of his touch some nights. Oh, there were plenty of nights like the one they'd just shared. He'd had her up against walls and on kitchen counters, bent over furniture and pressed against tiles. Yet, there were others where their positions had been so intimate, so close, she'd been able to do little more than rock her hips into his in a long, slow sensual dance. Those were the nights she'd catch something else in his eyes, a depth of emotion she didn't care to name as he wrapped his arms around her and breathed her name against her skin.

"It's all right to care for him, Emma," Ruby said gently when she remained silent, reaching across the table to squeeze her fingers. "You don't have to be alone forever."

Emma pulled her hand free, chipping at her nails and avoiding Ruby's stare. "It's just sex, Ruby. Anything more is the kind of distraction I can't have. You don't do deep cover assignments. I can't…" She took a deep breath, ignoring the stab of pain in her chest. "And even if I could, he'd get sick of me eventually and walk away like everyone else."

"In case you haven't noticed, there's a whole lot of people who haven't gone anywhere. Regina, despite her every attempt to convince the world she's a soulless monster, cares. _I'm_ still here. Graham's half in love with you still, years later. I never said anything, partly because I think it's bullshit he slept with you while you were wasted and he wasn't. No way to start a relationship. But more than that, you never once looked at him the way you look at Killian."

That got her attention, Emma's head jerking up. "What?"

Ruby smiled, her eyes dancing. "The two of you in a room together are in your own little universe. You _have_ to know how he looks at you. If he does it in public, I bet he does in when it's just the two of you. You look back, Emma." She leaned back against the booth, curling her fingers around her coffee mug. "I'm just saying, when this case with Gold is over, maybe don't take another deep cover assignment right away. There's plenty of other things to do on the task force, other ways to serve. Regina likes to put on her boss face, but you know she'd understand. She'd want to see you happy."

"Seriously? You can't possibly be suggesting I change my entire life around for a man I've been screwing for a month." The words felt crass in her mouth – wrong and somehow cheapening whatever was between her and Killian.

Two dark eyebrows knit together, Ruby's frown deep as she regarded Emma with a fair amount of disbelief. "First of all, I know it's been going on longer than a month. There's been something between you from the first time I saw you together. I remember what happened at Gold's, but you've moved past it. He definitely has. Don't throw it away. He's a good man, and I'm pretty sure he's in love with you."

It might as well have been a sucker punch. "He's not." Emma shook her head emphatically, her stomach churning. Killian wasn't in love with her. They were just having fun. Delightful, sinful fun. "He's _not_." She didn't know if she was repeating it for her own benefit or Ruby's.

Ruby sighed. "We see terrible things, Emma. This line of work, we come face to face with a section of humanity that makes me question how we share a species with them. I know it stays with you. How can it not? But for all the horrors in the world, there are still good people, and when they come into our lives, we should hold onto them."

"And what if I lose him, Ruby? What if I listen to you, and I let him in, and a moment comes when I second guess myself because I'm thinking about him and not about the job?" Emma's throat tightened painfully, her eyes stinging at the thought even as she desperately tried to shove it aside. "What if he does love me, and I let myself love him, and he walks away? I can't…I'm not…"

 _I don't believe in half-measures_ , he'd said to her all those weeks ago. Emma had understood then, understood what he was saying to her – he'd be all in. She'd accepted it, truly believing that whatever was between them, _all in_ wasn't going to result in love. Emma wasn't the kind of person men like Killian fell in love with. She was too damaged, too independent, not worth the trouble – she wasn't the kind of woman who would make things easy for Killian.

She was the difficult kind, and she always would be.

"Isn't it worth the risk?" Ruby asked softly, reaching across the table to lay her hand on top of Emma's arm and squeeze lightly. "Besides, we both know you would be the one to walk away, if that's what it came to."

It was gently said, but the words stung nonetheless. "It doesn't matter. He doesn't love me. I've got this Gold assignment next week, and then I'm sure Regina already has the next one lined up. He'll forget all about me," Emma insisted, ignoring how every word was a stab against her heart, ignoring just how much she hated herself for even saying it to Ruby. "I have to go. I'll see you at work tomorrow."

"Emma…"

Emma only shook her head, throwing cash on the table to cover her portion of the bill. It didn't matter that she was proving Ruby right, that she was walking away because she couldn't handle the thought of something so incredible as Killian Jones being in love with her – the unsettling certainty that Ruby was right, that all of those looks and kisses brushed against her forehead and late night whispers added up.

It didn't matter. Even if he did feel that way about her, she'd never be able to love him back.

-x-

Killian glanced around his apartment, taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out as he rubbed the back of his neck. Emma was late, which normally wouldn't be anything to worry about, except for the last week she'd been pulling away, distant. He'd chalked it up to nerves about seeing Gold again, about being Emily again, but Emma had been doing her job long enough that the longer it went on, the more determined he became that something else troubled her.

At first he hadn't asked, not wanting to pry too deeply. She wasn't avoiding him, and on the surface, she wasn't any different. She still welcomed him into her bed, still fell asleep beside him, but her eyes had gone hard. All of her had gone hard, whatever softness he'd coaxed from her over the weeks retreating behind rock-solid walls. There was no more room for languid or slow, no more tender touches or sleepy, unguarded smiles.

There were no more silly moments, no Emma dancing about in her kitchen in the middle of the night while he cooked, grinning back at him while he'd watched her, torn between joining her and not burning their dinner – no more Emma striding into the district like she owned the place, dropping off a coffee for him with her _let's not make a big deal of this_ smirk while teasing him about his immaculate desk.

He hadn't thought much of it at first. The first night, when Emma had looked him right in the eye and told him she wanted him to fuck her, he'd gone along with it. It wasn't the first time one of them was in the mood for it, all slapping skin and teeth and dirty whispers. But when he realized Emma had spent an entire week choosing positions that kept them from being face-to-face, that she was making every effort to keep him in a box firmly marked _sex_ , the niggling sensation something was wrong exploded with full-blown certainty.

Killian wasn't having it. He hadn't felt the need to bring up what they were or weren't over the last month or so – he'd been Emma's long before they'd fallen into bed. But even if she wouldn't name it, the late nights curled together on the couch, the secrets and hopes they'd whispered to each other, the nights out with his friends or hers…maybe Emma didn't want to label it, but they were together. And Killian refused to watch their relationship burn to the ground just because she was in the mood to play with fire.

Now especially, with Emma about to face down Gold, he needed to remind her that he wasn't going anywhere, that whatever damage she perceived in herself, he cared for her anyway. He was in love with her, not that she was ready to hear it. So the apartment glowed with the soft light of several candles, Emma's favorite dessert from the bakery down the street in the fridge and a simple dinner waiting to go in the oven. And after they'd eaten, he'd take Emma to bed, tasting of chocolate and wine, and make love to her between the soft sheets.

If she let him.

Her soft knock startled him, and he rushed to open the door. He wished she would have taken the key he offered, but her flat refusal and insistence she didn't need it – they spent most nights at her place – had hurt more than he'd wanted her to know. He didn't bring it up again.

"What is all this?" she asked in greeting, not so much as a hello before the sharp question. She didn't step beyond the door of the flat as it swung shut behind her, eyes narrowed and shoulders stiff.

"You've been rather tense. I thought…"

Her lips curled into a predatory smile as she advanced, running one hand up his chest. The heat of her palm bled through the thin cotton of his shirt, her shampoo and skin filling his senses as he breathed her in. "I can think of a few ways to ease some tension." Her voice was low, and any other night, he would have been hard just by the way she was looking at him, all desire and dark promise.

Killian didn't answer her, instead sliding both his palms along her cheeks and bending to kiss her. He put every emotion he had into the kiss, hoping it would reach her, soothe whatever fears and worries had her hiding from him. For a moment, it seemed to work, and then Emma's hands left his shoulders, working his belt open. He broke the kiss, backing away with the buckle half-undone.

"What the hell, Killian?" She huffed, folding her arms over her chest and shooting him an annoyed look. When he didn't answer immediately, she rolled her eyes, shrugging out of her jacket and tossing it over the couch. As she turned back to him, she began unbuttoning her shirt, revealing a bright red bra beneath.

"I made dinner," he managed to say, refastening his belt before reaching for her, stilling her fingers before she could undo another button. "And got that cake you like from the bakery."

"Later." She leaned up on her toes, her tongue tracing the spot below his jaw that always made his breath catch. "Right now, I want you to fuck me so hard I'll be able to feel you inside me for days."

The words barreled into him, a gut punch he wasn't prepared for. Aye, she'd said things like it before, and when they were whispered in his ear between gasps, her legs around his hips and nothing but skin between them, he'd happily take on the challenge. But in the middle of his living room, her eyes hard and determined, there was little tempation in the detached demand.

"No," he said quietly, releasing his hold on her wrists. He resisted the urge to squeeze his eyes shut against the overwhelming familiarity of Emma attempting to use sex to avoid a conversation. If he allowed himself to think on it, the pain of having his feelings rejected would swallow him whole. "Not tonight, love."

That got her attention, her eyes wide with disbelief as she pulled back suddenly – disbelief and hurt. "What?"

"You are not yourself, and I would know why. This has gone on quite long enough," he said firmly, keeping his eyes carefully trained on her face.

"If you don't want sex, why am I here?" she snapped, ignoring everything except his refusal. She didn't bother refastening her shirt, her breasts on display as she folded her arms under them.

Killian snaked an arm around her waist, tugging her close once more and swallowing the sharp words on the tip of his tongue. He knew it had stopped being just sex for both of them some time ago, whether she would ever admit it or not, but Emma didn't respond well to being cornered. "What's wrong?" he repeated, pushing her hair away from her eyes and forcing her chin up with a gentle nudge.

"Nothing. You're the one who invited me over and doesn't want to f…"

"I want to," he cut in before she could say anything else about _fucking_ in that cool tone he despised, his voice hoarse. "I want to take you to my bed, lay you down, and watch you come utterly undone while I'm inside you." He bent to kiss her, his hand falling from her waist to her hip, holding her body tight against his. It would have been easy to stay like that, to keep kissing and touching her, but he forced himself to lean back, to look her in the eye. "But that isn't what you want, is it?"

Desire and longing flickered across her face, a hint of the Emma he'd come to know reappearing, but fear kept her features hard.

"You've been pushing me away, love," he said gently, watching her face for a reaction, a hint as to what she was thinking, feeling. Emma could be an open book, and the more he spoke, the more her mask of seduction slipped. "I've given you what you desired this last week, but…"

"Oh, what _I_ wanted?" She scoffed, rolling her eyes, but when she shoved at his chest, it was halfhearted at best. "I didn't hear you complaining last night when you fuc–"

"Emma, please." He brushed his thumb along the swell of her cheek, not bothering anymore to hide anything in his voice or his eyes. The words rested on the tip of his tongue, but she was already putting distance between them – telling Emma he'd fallen in love with her now would push her right over the edge. So instead he let it into his expression, let himself look at her with every ounce of longing and love, and hoped she'd see it, understand it. "At some point, you've got to trust me. I can handle whatever it is."

He didn't expect her laugh, brittle and borderline hysterical. "You think I don't trust you? Of course I trust you!" Her fingers tightened around the fabric of his shirt, frustration bright in her white knuckles. "That's how we got in this mess," she mumbled so quietly he wasn't sure he was meant to hear, her forehead resting against his shoulder.

Killian ignored her last statement for the moment, latching onto her other words. "Then why do you keep shutting me out?" he asked gently, his thumb working under her shirt where he held her to him, her skin warm against his.

When she lifted her head, her eyes had gone glassy, her lips tight. "It has nothing to do with trust," she whispered, dropping her gaze to the floor.

He wanted to believe her, believe the kernel of truth in the exhausted statement, but he couldn't reconcile it with her behavior. Discouraged, he released her and took a step back. "Of course it bloody does," he replied, too worn out to keep the bitterness out of his voice. It was exhausting, loving a woman who was so determined to not be loved. He wanted to kiss her until she understood, until she finally grasped that he wasn't going anywhere, that love meant he could handle whatever she was holding back.

"You don't get it!" The words burst out of her, surprising him with their force. "Everyone I've ever loved is dead. Lily was my best friend, my only friend growing up, and she died a horrible, gruesome death. The man I fell in love with when I was eighteen lied to me, swore he would give up being a thief for me, and died pulling a job behind my back. I haven't let myself…I don't…" She shrugged helplessly, tears he knew she was fighting brimming behind her lashes. "I can't lose you, too."

His chest ached at the pain in her voice, the old wounds he'd unintentionally slashed open. "That's what I've been trying to tell you, love. You won't lose me. I excel at surviving." He took a step closer, opening his arms slightly. She walked into them after the smallest hesitation, pressing her cheek to his chest and clinging to him, sucking in shaky breaths as his shirt grew damp. Relief coursed through him, relief so profound he might have buckled if he wasn't holding Emma, soothing her as the last week's tension drained out of her.

She quieted slowly, her eyes swollen and her cheeks splotched when she finally pulled away, but she was the Emma he knew again. She smiled tentatively as he brushed her hair away from her face, leaning into his touch. "Were you serious about the cake?"

He grinned, pressing one more kiss to her hair before letting her go. She remained quiet as they entered the kitchen, accepting the glass of wine he offered and hopping onto the counter in her usual spot. He paused, stepping between her legs, holding her eyes as he tentatively reached for her shirt, refastening two of the buttons. "Bloody distracting minx," he muttered, leaning forward to kiss her forehead before backing away with a grin.

She smiled back, sipping slowly as he assembled dinner. It was difficult to keep his attention on the task, simple as it was, with her sitting on the counter, leaned back against the cabinets and watching him. It wasn't exactly an awkward silence, but something simmered in the air between them, something that felt like a promise.

 _Everyone I've ever loved is dead_ , she'd told him, revealing not only an ex he had long suspected of breaking her heart, but something more. _Everyone I've ever loved_ , she'd said when he'd implied she didn't trust him. Did that mean she loved him? Was that Emma's way of admitting it, skirting around actually saying it directly?

He snuck another glance at her, her eyes unfocused and lost in thought. She never had told him what was wrong, what had been eating at her the last week – or had she? He wanted to ask if she'd pulled away because she was afraid of what she felt for him, afraid of how the days knit them tighter and tighter together, but did he really need her to say it? She'd all but shouted at him, the words hinging on hysteria with tears in her eyes, but now she was calm, the Emma he knew.

Swallowing his questions, he resolved to leave it be. She needed her head on straight to deal with Gold the next day, and he'd pushed her enough for one night. If all went according to plan, they could have this conversation tomorrow once Gold was in a cell. Emma wouldn't be going anywhere right away, not with a trial to prep for. There would be plenty of time for them, time to figure out a way to prove his love to her so that when he said it, she would already know.

By the time he took her to bed, she did indeed taste of chocolate and wine.

It was the small hours of the morning when he woke, the apartment quiet and Emma beside him. Whatever nightmare pushed him to consciousness faded away, leaving only a nagging ache behind his eyes. He took a slow, deep breath, careful not to move too much with Emma's cheek pillowed on his chest, one of her legs slung over his.

She truly was beautiful, all creamy skin and golden hair – and a tender heart he would protect with his life. It had been a struggle not to tell her that night, not to confess his love as she lay in his arms, tracing idle patterns over his bare chest as their skin cooled. Instead he'd contented himself with tender touches and gentle kisses, pouring all of his love into every caress, every moment their eyes caught.

Killian closed his eyes again, willing sleep to return. But as seconds turned to minutes, the pounding in his head only grew stronger. The nightmares did that sometimes, his ears ringing with explosions years gone by, and he gave up after another fifteen minutes.

Not wanting to wake Emma, he reached for the nightstand drawer. He kept a bottle of Advil there for just such an occasion, though truth be told he usually washed it down with a swig of rum. With Emma in his arms, he hoped the rum would be unnecessary – not that it was the best of habits to begin with.

Blindly searching through the contents of the drawer, he struggled to keep the rest of his body still. But rather than the smooth plastic of the bottle, he felt cool metal under his fingers, the familiar ridges of Milah's name. Headache momentarily forgotten, he drew the tags out of the drawer, the metal flashing in the dim light from the street. He'd held the scraps of metal tightly so many nights, wrapped them around his palm like a rosary and done penance to her memory, but he hadn't touched them in weeks – hadn't _thought_ about them in weeks.

The realization stunned him. Had Emma truly taken over his thoughts so thoroughly? Aye, the nightmares were less frequent, and he spent more nights in her bed than his, but he hadn't woken reaching for the tags even in his own bed.

"Are those yours?"

The question was groggy, but not nearly as much as it should have been. His fingers closed tightly around the tags, wondering how long she had been awake without him noticing. Breathing deeply, he sent a silent prayer into the universe he wasn't about to make a bigger bloody mess of things than ever. After the night they'd already had, he wasn't sure this was the best time to have the conversation that would come with answering her question.

But he didn't want to lie to her.

"No," he said hoarsely, his free hand tangling in her hair as memories threatened to drown him. "They're Milah's."

Emma stiffened against him, but didn't say anything. He waited for the question, waited to hear what emotion would lurk in her words to give him a hint as to how to approach his explanation, but none came. It was only when she started to pull away that he realized she had no intention of speaking – she was going to run.

"Emma." He caught her hand before she could move across the mattress, lacing their fingers together and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "Allow me to explain, love."

"You don't owe me an explanation. You love her, her memory." Her voice caught, and she stopped, shaking her head and sending a wave of blonde tangles over her shoulder, shielding her face. "Of course you kept them," she said after a pause, her fingers starting to curl against his before going limp in his grasp.

"Yes, I loved her." He sighed, squeezing her hand. "Yes, I kept them. And for many nights, they were my penance, but I quite honestly haven't thought of them in weeks."

"And tonight?" She didn't look at him, picking imaginary lint from the blanket.

"Tonight I was looking for the bottle of Advil I thought to be in there and found these instead." He uncurled his fingers, letting the metal tags hang by their chain, clinking together. "She didn't have any family to send them to, so I took them when she…after. I wanted to remember."

"You wanted to punish yourself." She looked up then, a mess of emotion across her features, but what struck him more than anything was how much she understood. It wasn't pity, and it wasn't judgment – it was a kindred spirit who knew what it was to hate the face in the mirror.

"Aye, a bit of that too." He sat up, leaning back against the headboard. Emma followed after a pause, leaning into his chest as his arm wrapped around her shoulders. Bending to press a kiss to her hair, Killian struggled to contain his stark relief – the story wasn't over, but Emma had willingly come into his arms when she could have run. They were silent for a long moment, her warm breath washing over his skin. He considered staying that way, stopping there, but he owed Emma the full truth. "I told you it was my fault she died. I didn't tell you…"

"You don't have to."

"I do. You should know…I don't wish to have secrets. We need never speak of it again, but I would have you know everything." He waited for her nod, then pressed forward. "We met when we attended the Naval Academy. She was older, but it's not an overly large campus. I was there on scholarship, bit of string pulling from Liam's CO who helped me get in in the first place. It all happened very quickly, but she dropped out of the Academy and went the enlisted route barely a year later.

"Much to my great shock, she was on the first vessel I was assigned. No one knew of our time together, and we both knew it was against the rules to be together, but…" He shrugged, struggling with the old memories. "We got caught, once, and it should have stopped there, but I was too bloody arrogant to believe we'd get caught a second time. I had a duty to the sailors on that ship, and I failed when I thought of Milah, the woman I loved, ahead of anything else.

"I grew protective over her. War chooses its victims indiscriminately, and I did everything in my power to give her better odds. We argued that morning about her coming along. It was a volunteer mission, dangerous, and none of us had been getting enough sleep. I outranked her. I…I ordered her to stay behind. She ignored me, threatened to turn us both in for our relationship, and got into the Humvee ahead of mine. Our last words to each other were filled with anger.

"We left late because of the argument, and I've spent nearly every day since wondering if we had been on time, if we had gone through that pass five minutes earlier as we should have, if she'd still be alive. If I had called her bluff, if I hadn't so readily believed she'd be willing to turn us both in, would she have just been pissed at me instead of dead?"

Emma pushed back from him, and he waited for the scorn, but she only shook her head. "It wasn't your fault she died. She chose to go. She knew the risks."

"I should have watched her walk back to her tent. I should have made sure she listened to me."

"You outranked her. Were you in charge that day?"

"No, but…"

"Then it wasn't your call," Emma cut in, gentle but firm. "She knew what she was doing. You all knew what you were doing. I'm sure she wouldn't want you blaming yourself for her decisions. She enlisted for a reason, chose to serve her country. Your love doesn't change that."

And suddenly, he didn't think they were talking about Milah anymore.

"Is it so wrong I wanted to protect her?" he asked quietly, reaching out to cup Emma's cheek. He ran his thumb over her bottom lip, the skin soft under the rough calluses he bore. "That I want to keep her safe?" He didn't bother correctly himself.

Emma's lips curved into a frown under his touch. "There is a difference between protecting, and putting her in a cage. You can't make those decisions for someone because you're worried it won't go your way."

He didn't reply, gently laying the tags on the nightstand before turning back to Emma. "Promise me you'll be careful tomorrow. Promise me you'll come back to me." His voice was unexpectedly thick, the words sticking in his throat as he pulled her into his arms.

"I can handle myself," she replied, the words prickly though she didn't push him away. "I don't need you to…"

"I know, love. You don't need me to do your job. But I need you to come back to me." It was the closest he could come to saying what he really wanted to say, but it would have to suffice for tonight. He kissed the bare skin where her shoulder and neck met, forming a path up her throat and over her jaw until his lips captured hers.

There were no more words that night, and when he woke in the morning, Killian knew she was gone before he opened his eyes.

* * *

 **Bad news - I'm heading out on vacation for a few weeks, so the Gold showdown will be slightly delayed. Good news - I posted a not-quite-one-shot that got out of hand and is now a four part thing over the weekend, so if you're looking for something else to read, check out "The Stars Walk Backwards" or meander over to Oubliette14's page and check out her new fic!**


	13. Chapter 13

Emma eyed herself critically in the mirror, fighting the urge to tug on the bottom of her dress. Somehow in the months that had passed since the last time she'd wore Emily's clothes, the hem seemed to have moved up a few inches.

It hadn't. She'd just gotten used to dressing like herself again.

She sighed, pushing her hair off her shoulders and giving herself one final stare. The memory of the last dress she'd worn like this popped up unbidden, balled up and crumpled in the trash. Killian had been so angry that night. It felt like forever ago, but even then, behind her own answering fury, behind the need to be right, even then she'd known the anger for what it was – fear. Fear that something would happen to her, fear that he couldn't save her, fear that Gold would win.

Fear that she'd be yet another girl tossed aside behind a dumpster.

He'd terrified her, really. Not because she felt unsafe with him – Killian would die to protect her. She knew it in the marrow of her bones and that was the scary part. It wasn't like Ruby or Graham or Regina; they were her team and they had her back. They'd all take a bullet for each other. She _had_ taken a bullet meant for Regina, once. But Killian…Killian would put himself in harm's way if it meant keeping her safe. She'd known it before that terrible conversation they'd had last night, but then his voice had dipped lower, and suddenly he hadn't been talking about Milah anymore.

 _I need you to come back to me._

No one had ever needed her before. She'd wanted to tell him it wasn't fair, that he couldn't put that kind of pressure on her. It wasn't like they were together. It was just sex, wasn't it? But then he'd kissed her, and it'd been easier to give in to the push and pull of his body moving with hers than tell him any of that.

It didn't have anything to do with the certainty she'd have broken his heart if she'd said the words out loud. It wasn't just sex for Killian. She'd suspected for some time it never had been, not when he'd looked at her the way he had in her shower, not when he'd burst into that alley with wild terror in his eyes and that niggling something else she'd never wanted to name – that Ruby claimed was love.

Not when he'd seen right through her week of refusing to look him in the face while he was inside her, hiding the panic her conversation with Ruby had brought on with seductive smiles and enticements to _try something new_. She'd nearly broken down right then and there when he'd said no, pain lacing every word. It would have been better if she'd just admitted it, that she was freaked out and couldn't handle another night of that damned look on his face – the look they all seemed to get right before they were snatched away from her. But she'd tried to fight him, and in the face of his bitter implication – _at some point, you've got to trust me_ – something had snapped. She'd never meant to tell him about how things had ended with Neal; the vague explanation she'd given once before should have sufficed.

She'd never meant to confess the fear that lay behind her survival instincts when it came to Killian Jones. It didn't matter that'd she'd come to crave the dimple in his cheek when he smiled nearly as much as his mouth between her legs – she couldn't take the chance he'd disappear one day, too.

Because sometimes, she didn't really know anymore if it was just about sex for her, either. She'd spent the last week avoiding eye contact in bed, but even when his chest was pressed to her back and his lips were on her shoulders, she'd craved the intimacy of other positions. It just wasn't a craving she could give into – not when he haunted her thoughts day and night, not when he tucked her into his side on his couch and brushed an innocent kiss against her hair, and something tightened in her chest – not when slipping out of his bed without saying goodbye only hours earlier had nearly broken something deep inside her.

Not when in the light of day, she couldn't shake the memory of how he'd looked at her last night when they'd finally gone to bed, eyes hazy with wine and chocolate and that other terrifying thing – not when they'd been so entwined there was barely enough room to do more than sigh with the heady pleasure of having him buried deep inside her, but she still hadn't moved to rush to the finished line.

"It will be over before you know it."

Emma jerked out of her thoughts, turning away from the mirror to face Graham and focus on the task at hand. No matter her protests, he still believed they'd be in and out, Gold in a cell by the end of the night. Graham's cover – Hunter, no last name – had insisted Gold himself come to the meet. News had spread through the criminal underworld of the raid on Gold's place, and they'd used that, feigning distrust in underlings that might just be cops. Gold had agreed to their terms, but something about his reply still nagged at her.

 _Very well. I shall see you with the girl tomorrow, dearie._

Innocuous enough, but he'd only said _tomorrow_. He hadn't said he'd be in the parking lot at the outskirts of town where the meet was set to happen. But when she'd mentioned it to Graham, he'd been quick to reassure her. They had a plan, and they had agents positioned around the perimeter to cover them. If Gold didn't show, they would regroup and try something else. It didn't matter if in the end they blew Emma's cover – Regina had made herself clear over the weeks of planning that Emma was not to go back in undercover by herself. It was too dangerous. There were too many variables outside their control, and Gold was too unpredictable.

Emma had muttered her agreement, but if she got the chance to take the bastard down, she was taking it. He could break her wrist. He could force her into sex with one of his actual criminal cohorts. But he couldn't take away her determination to take him down. In the grand scheme of things, Emma's life wasn't as important as making sure he didn't get the opportunity to ruin countless others.

 _Killian wouldn't see it that way._

 _Killian is ex-military and a cop. He would get it. Serve and protect doesn't always mean come home safe._

 _Then why didn't you tell him?_

 _I'm probably just paranoid. Graham is right. We've got a whole team. It will be fine. This time tonight I'll be sitting on Killian's counter while he makes grilled cheese. Naked. Definitely naked._

Swallowing the last of her doubts, Emma smiled at Graham, taking a long, slow breath to center herself. They had an hour until the meet, and it would take a solid forty-minutes to drive out of the downtown area. It was time. "Let's go," she said with a nod, smoothing down her dress one last time before heading for the door, heels hooked on her fingers. She'd put them on in the van.

She'd worked with Graham enough to know he wasn't a big talker going into high stakes assignments. Like her, he preferred to gather himself in silence, locking away the pieces of himself he couldn't afford to have on display. Hunter wasn't an easygoing, charming man with a perpetual smile. He was cold and hard and dealt in human flesh. It wasn't an easy skin to wear.

Not that becoming Emily was. The hair and makeup and shoes and clothes, that was the easy part. Curling into herself, loosening her spine and sinking into the despair that always lurked at the far edges of her memories, it had been easy too – before. Before Killian. Before mornings she woke laughing as his scruff tickled her thighs, before Netflix marathons filled with snarky commentary and easy companionship. Before knowing when she woke in the middle of the night, his warmth would be curled around her like fog between the trees on a summer morning, his arm a heavy band of security around her waist.

Silently cursing herself, she resolved to put Killian out of her mind. This was what she'd wanted to avoid – Killian consuming her thoughts when she needed to get her game face on. She closed her eyes, banishing his playful, goading smirks, full lips and dancing blue stare. It helped to remember those long days in Gold's company, the hours spent in tiny rooms and tinier clothes, the humiliation of it all.

There were also the women who lived the life for real. The ones that looked like Lily had in the end, haunted and broken and seconds from being a nameless face dumped in an alley or the river. She'd never forget their faces, weary and beaten down, hazy with drugs or apathy or a humiliation so deep they'd never be free of its stain.

She let herself sink deeper and deeper into the darkness, and by the time they approached the meet, Emma had transformed herself into Emily. Meek, pathetic Emily who didn't have the energy to break out of the life she was trapped in – didn't have anyone who cared enough to give her the helping hand she'd need to get beyond her mean existence. She was about to be sold, no better than a piece of chattel, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Resigned to her fate and defeated.

"Ready?" Graham asked quietly as they turned the final corner. She nodded, shoving her feet into the high, pinching heels and letting her face fall into a mask of apathy. "I'm sorry," Graham added, snaking his fingers across the seat to squeeze hers quickly. "For what I have to say and do."

"It's the job. I won't take it personally. Do what needs to be done so we can end this."

The parking lot was empty when they arrived, as planned. Graham sighed, reaching past her into the glove box and pulling out the zip ties they'd taken along. "I don't like this. What if you need to defend yourself?"

"You're getting rid of me because I tried to take off on you, remember? Just do it. You know I can get out of it if I need to." It was one of the first things they learned at Quantico – an agent restrained was usually a dead agent before long. Still, her stomach rolled as the plastic pieces rubbed against each other, binding her hands and spiking her adrenaline. She ignored Graham's apologetic smile. There was no room for sympathy in Emily's life.

They waited in silence after that, Emma doing her best to remain a ragdoll tossed into her seat as she scanned their surroundings, watching, waiting. Years of work had gotten them to this point, and she told herself that was why she couldn't wrap her head around being done after today – she'd spent a good portion of her career trying to put Gold behind bars. The idea of finally accomplishing it was surreal. That was why she had contingency plans. It wasn't reckless – it was logical.

"Show time," Emma muttered under her breath, spotting a black sedan turning into the opposite end of the parking lot. Graham nodded, getting out of the van and coming around to her side. The other car was just rolling to a stop as he jerked her out of her seat, and Emma didn't have to fake her stumble. At least Graham had a tight hold on her elbow, and though it was meant to be possessive and controlling, it had the added benefit of keeping her upright.

Squinting in the sunlight, she waited for someone to emerge from the sedan. Could Gold really have decided to come to the meet after all? She wanted to be wrong about her suspicions, wanted to just be paranoid after so many years, but as the seconds grew into minutes and no one got out of the car, the pit in Emma's stomach grew.

Graham swore viciously a moment later, jerking her back as four vans came barreling into the lot. They weren't theirs, and this hadn't been part of the plan. If the vans surrounded them, the snipers lying in wait nearby would lose their sight lines. They weren't wearing wires, too conscious of Gold's paranoia to chance it. The van was equipped with a camera hidden in one of the headlights that would pick up the scene for evidence, but there was no way to communicate with the team.

Emma and Graham were on their own.

Graham started dragging her back toward their van without another word. Gold was up to something, and she'd listened to Graham and Regina go over everything enough times to know they were on the same page – at the first sight of trouble, get out.

But it was too late.

"Going somewhere, dearie?" Gold uncoiled himself from the sedan, the golden handle of his cane glinting in the sunlight. "I believe we made a deal."

"Turn around," Emma said in a low voice, too quietly to be overheard. "He's here. This is our chance. Who knows when we'll get another like it."

"They can't cover us with all the vans," Graham hissed back. "We're getting out of here. Follow my lead."

Turning back to Gold, Graham swung Emma around with him, once again forcing her to teeter on her heels. The plastic around her wrists bit painfully into her skin as she nearly fell, Graham jerking her upright by the elbow. "While unloading the slut would improve my day, I get the impression you're about to try to cheat me. You'll have to excuse me if I'm no longer in a selling mood."

"I'm a man of my word. Hand over the whore, and you'll get what's owed to you."

"Payment first," Graham replied evenly, all cool nonchalance. "I hear she's worth a pretty penny to you for some reason or another."

Gold's reptilian smile froze Emma's blood in her veins. The world around them slowed down and raced by all at once, the click of a gun safety being released echoing through his words. "Very well, then."

Metal glinted in the sunlight, her mind screaming _GUN_ even as she began to struggle, hoping to push Graham down before the bullet could hit home. But she was too late, too slow, and he crumpled at her side, a warm spray of blood spattering her face. She barely heard the thud of him hitting the pavement over the rush of her pulse, her thoughts frantic as she struggled to keep an eye on Gold while determining if the shot had been fatal. There was so much blood, and Graham didn't seem to be moving as she dropped to her knees, searching for the entry wound, the asphalt biting into her skin, the zip ties tearing at her wrists.

She waited for another shot, for the sniper team to take out Gold, for their team to come rushing in, but in one horrible moment, she knew with terrifying clarity just how bad things were about to get.

"Pleasure to see you again, Miss Swan."

-x-

"Today's the day?"

Killian nodded, shoving the coffee pot back on the burner and taking a swig of the sludge the district kept on hand. "Aye. They should be on their way already."

"She'll be fine." David clapped a hand on Killian's shoulder, offering a pat of reassurance. "You said yourself she's a good agent. Smart."

Killian nodded again. There were too many words lodged in his throat to pick just a handful to utter aloud. He hadn't exactly been surprised to wake alone, but beyond the hurt, something else nagged at him, a suspicion he couldn't put his finger on, but that put him on edge nonetheless. A ghost on his grave, his mum used to say in that overly dramatic manner she'd had, the one Liam used to insist he'd inherited.

Not that he wanted to think about graves, of all bloody things – unless the grave was Gold's.

David must have sensed Killian's foul mood, taking his own cup of swill and disappearing back into his office. All around the district, life continued on, all the crimes of a major US city refusing to take a holiday simply because Killian was distracted.

He threw himself into his shift, struggling not to check his phone constantly. It wasn't as though he'd hear from Emma until it was finished. Even once the meet went down, they'd still be required to return to the city to process Gold and debrief. It could go well into the night, and he knew that as much as anyone.

He checked anyway.

It was past seven when David stopped at his desk. Killian, bent over the pile of paperwork with his leg bouncing madly, didn't notice until David spoke. "No word?"

"No," Killian bit out gruffly, reaching for his phone by reflex. He all but growled at the empty screen, leaning back in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose. A headache had been gathering behind his eyes all afternoon, and David's innocent question sent spikes of pain through his brows. "She's likely busy."

"Probably." David fell silent, the evaluating stare that followed familiar. "You could call Ruby. She liked you, right?"

"Aye, she liked me just fine. But as I don't know what Emma has or hasn't told her sodding coworkers regarding my role in her life, best not, mate." He'd spilled his guts to David well into his cups one night, not that his friend and boss had seemed the least bit surprised. But he had no bloody idea what Emma had or hadn't said to the likes of Ruby, and he didn't want to push his luck tonight. It wasn't like he hadn't already considered calling Red twenty times or more as the afternoon crawled into evening.

Nodding to his usually tidy desk strewn with paperwork, Killian grasped the back of his neck, kneading his fingers against the tense muscle and wishing for Emma's touch instead. "Thought I'd catch up on this bit while I wait."

"Let me know when it's done. The Commissioner will be happy to hear Gold is off the streets."

Killian smiled tightly, turning his attention back to the form he'd been trying to fill out for the past twenty minutes. Bureaucratic nonsense it was, but it needed doing and he needed a distraction.

By midnight, he needed a lot bloody more than a distraction. He needed Emma.

But Emma was nowhere to be found.

He went home, assuring himself that she'd call within the hour, or maybe just knock on his door. She'd be exhausted, and she'd protest she needed a shower when he gathered her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom, but he wouldn't care. He'd undress them both before making love to her, her legs snug around his hips, moving together until they were both trembling with need. Only then would he take her hard, giving them both what they required to tumble over together.

In the morning, he would tell her the truth. Whatever was or wasn't between them couldn't be a question anymore, because he knew – he knew he was in love with her. He was greedy and he was selfish, but he didn't just want her mornings and evenings anymore. Damn him, he wanted all of her.

By two, he was determined to have her the moment she walked in the door, desperate with worry. It was less about sex than it was about needing to feel her flesh beneath his fingers – the heat of her body around his, the pounding rhythm of her heartbeat as she rose above him, his cheek pressed to the swell of her breasts, her fingers in his hair. He wanted to hear his name on her lips, ragged, breathless – he wanted every inch of her vitality safe at his fingertips.

He was staring four a.m. in the face, a third of a bottle deep into the rum, when he picked up his phone from the kitchen counter and called Ruby, damn the consequences. Emma was likely still dealing with the endless red tape of government, and she'd be annoyed he'd called. He hadn't missed how pointedly she'd made it clear she didn't appreciate his attempts to comment on her job, that even his plea to be safe had rankled against her stubborn pride. In that moment, he didn't give a damn. He needed to know she was all right.

But from the moment Ruby answered, cold terror settled itself in his throat.

"Killian, hi," she said, as though it were perfectly normal for him to call at four in the morning. Too normal.

"I realize I shouldn't be calling, so if you would kindly keep this between us, I just need to know…she's there, is she not? She'll have my bloody head for doing this, but I need to know. I need…" He swallowed hard, the silence on the other end of the line deafening. "Ruby?" he whispered, his vision blurring as dread dropped like a stone in his gut. "She's there, isn't she?"

A shaky breath came over the line, and he knew. "He took her. The bastard took her. We're going to get her back, Killian. Everyone is on it." Ruby's voice was raw, scratchy, as though she'd spent considerable time crying or shouting. Or both.

He swore viciously. All those moments he'd wanted to ask Emma for details on the plan, he'd kept his mouth shut, not wanting to upset her – not wanting her to think he was questioning her abilities. She hadn't offered the details up herself, either. Was this why? Had she been planning some off book insanity from the start?

"Did you know?" he ground out, squeezing his eyes shut against the helpless rage flooding through him. "Did she plan this?"

"No. This was not part of the plan," Ruby said firmly.

"Are you certain?"

"We have video. I'm certain Emma…" She paused, her voice cracking. "She didn't go willingly."

He swore again, guilt piling on to his mounting frustration and fear. He didn't want to think about where Emma could be, what Gold could have done to her by now. "Graham is with her? Tell me she isn't alone with that bloody monster."

"Graham…" Ruby's voice broke again, and he heard her sharp breath before she spoke again. "Graham is dead."

Dimly, he was aware of Ruby's voice calling his name, the phone clattering to the floor right before he lunged for the sink and lost the contents of his stomach. Cursing, he gasped for breath, wiping his mouth with the hem of his shirt without concern for the mess. Not when Emma was missing. Not when Gold had already killed Graham and now had Emma in his bloodthirsty possession.

Snatching up the phone again, he swallowed hard against another wave of nausea. "Are you in the office? I'm coming down there."

"Are you all right? It sounded like…"

"No, I am not bloody all right! You've just told me that Gold has Emma. Gold has Emma and he's already killed one fed and she's alone!" He laughed, a hysterical, mad laugh. "I won't ask again."

"You don't have…"

"I don't give a damn about jurisdictional bloody pissing matches. You can allow me to help with the search, or I will go look for her on my bloody own."

Ruby relented, and Killian forced himself to clean up the mess and change before leaving his apartment, swishing mouthwash from his door to the car. The horror of Emma's abduction sobered him as quickly as the removal of the majority of the rum from his system, though he gulped black coffee on the drive across town, anyway. Hell, he likely shouldn't have even been driving, whether from drink or the sheer magnitude of his distraction, but it was the fastest way to the FBI.

When he burst into the lobby, Ruby was already waiting. Her face was ashen, her lips pale, and her eyes had the glassy look to them that came only with a hard cry. She forced a tight smile when she caught sight of him, waving him over. "Everyone is upstairs," she said in greeting, already turning for the elevators.

"What leads do you have?"

"None."

"Bollocks. What the bloody hell do you mean, none? Surely someone…"

"Saw something in an abandoned lot at the edge of town? We had a team out there, Killian, and no one saw one useful fucking thing. All we know is the bastard shot Graham and took Emma. The video surveillance from the van gave us plates, but all of them were stolen and got us nowhere. Hours of traffic footage, and they just disappeared."

"Hours? How long…" Killian swallowed hard, fighting the urge to be sick again all over the elevator. "How bloody long has he had her? Why the hell didn't you call me?"

"I was going to. I know you and her…" Ruby winced, scrubbing her hand over her face. "I hoped we'd have her back by now, that I wouldn't have to tell you."

"Emma told you?" he asked quietly, hesitating as the elevator doors opened to their floor. That Emma had spoken with Ruby about their relationship…any other day, he'd have been thrilled to hear she'd discussed it, given it life. But in the small hours of the morning, about to walk into a manhunt to save the woman he loved, it was a gut-punch. He'd been so afraid to verbalize his feelings, convinced he would run Emma off – that she was still so deeply in denial about what they'd come to mean to each other that she'd never accept his love.

"She did." Ruby led the way down the hall, the noise of an office full of agents shouting and cursing slamming into them. But she paused before they reached Regina's office, her eyes softening. "For what it's worth, you make her happy. And I think she feels the same, but you know Emma. Can't get out of her own way." Ruby's voice caught, and she rubbed roughly at her eyes, her jaw set with grim determination when she looked at him again. "Regina will want to know you're here."

The next several hours passed in a blur. None of them had slept, but Killian was far too keyed up to even consider closing his eyes. Every minute that went by was another minute Gold had Emma, and if he didn't go mad from worry, the rage boiling his blood would break him soon. It had been bad enough when Rose was taken, but at least then, he'd been able to do something besides be yet another bloody idiot without a clue in an office building.

Regina had grilled him when he first arrived, making him go back over every place he'd ever been with Gold, every meet, every drop. It was information she already had in the case files, and he knew agents had already fanned out across the city, checking each and every spot. But he answered the questions anyway, racking his mind for anything he may have missed, might have forgotten to put in a report.

The sun was high in the sky by the time they let him see the surveillance video, Ruby hovering at his shoulder as though the sight of it may be the thing to finally break him.

She was nearly right.

Killian watched with gritted teeth as Emma and Graham came into the frame. Emma was in a dress identical to the one he'd thrown into the rubbish bin, and he had to take a deep, steadying breath to focus on what was in front of him. Any detail that could help locate her was his goal. His churning emotions and brutal memories brought on by the dress and the slump of her shoulders would have to wait.

He knew it was coming, but he still recoiled as Graham fell, blood spattering across Emma's stunned face. His eyes narrowed at Gold, the smug smile making him wish he could reach into the video and strangle the man.

And then his blood ran cold.

"Stop," he choked out, gesturing wildly at the screen. "Repeat that last bit."

"What do you…"

"Just bloody do it!" He held his breath as the screen moved, whispering a quick prayer that he was wrong as the video restarted. All of his attention on Gold, every drop of blood drained from his face as his fears were confirmed. "He knows who she is," he made himself say, the truth slamming his heart into his ribcage. "He called her _Miss Swan_."

"There isn't any audio."

"Read his lips."

The video froze, then replayed, bile rising in Killian's throat as he clenched his hands so hard he felt his bones might break. Ruby let out a string of curses behind him, spinning on her heel and heading directly for Regina. Killian followed.

The next thirty-six hours proved to be the longest of his life.

David called at some point, and Killian relayed what they knew, each word burning his throat. Without being asked, the FBI instantly had the full resources of the BPD at their disposal. Informants were called in, chips cashed. If he hadn't been out of his mind with worry, Killian might have been impressed that the police and FBI were managing to work together for once – even if it was sad that it took an agent in the hands of a madman to accomplish such a feat.

He wouldn't have survived it without Ruby. Her enduring determination that they would get Emma back kept him grounded, a tether to the real world; his thoughts were liable to spiral into despair the moment he allowed his mind to wander. "We're getting her back," Emma's best friend vowed, pressing another cup of coffee into Killian's hands. She was one of the only ones who hadn't suggested maybe an hour of sleep would be a good idea – she hadn't slept either. "We have to get her back. She needs to know you love her."

Killian nearly choked on his coffee, the certainty in Ruby's voice tugging at his heart. When all he managed was an incoherent sputter, the ghost of a smile curled Ruby's lips. "You've been in love with her for a while. I told her, you know. But she needs to hear it from you."

"You said this to her?"

Ruby nodded, sipping her own coffee. "Yeah, about a week ago. We had lunch."

"A week ago," he repeated dumbly, closing his eyes and grasping for anything that could keep him from sinking into a dark pit of emotion. "Aye, a week ago," he repeated to himself, hating how clear everything suddenly became.

A week ago, Ruby had told Emma that Killian was in love with her.

A week ago, Emma had pulled away, determined to put up a wall between them, determined to remove all trace of intimacy and love from what passed between them.

Two nights ago, she'd told him the truth. _I can't lose you, too_. Could Emma possibly love him back? Had her kneejerk reaction to her conversation with Ruby produced a fear so strong she'd recoiled from him, reverting to her usual defenses not because she didn't want to be with him but because she _did_?

He was out of time to ponder. Regina stuck her head into the break room, eyes bloodshot and hair in her face. Killian had never seen the woman disheveled before, but Emma's disappearance had brought out the desperation in them all. Yet it wasn't desperation in Regina's voice when she spoke, already turning away and beckoning them to follow, but grim certainty.

"We have something."


	14. Chapter 14

Killian held his breath as they approached Emma's suspected location, tugging on his vest and rechecking his gun. The adrenaline that came with any raid ratcheted up tenfold, his heart hammering against his ribs. But this wasn't any old raid.

 _Let her be here. Let her be alive. Bloody hell, let her be alive._

The van stopped, everyone quietly piling out. Regina had called in HRT, and as difficult as it was to follow their orders, he did as he was told. Hostages were their business, and they were damn good at it. Killian desperately needed Emma to come out in one piece, and they were his best shot.

He knew as well as anyone he was lucky to even be allowed on scene. He wasn't FBI. He wasn't part of a joint task force anymore. He wouldn't put himself into the loved one category – Emma never had answered his question about what he was to her – but it was personal, and there wasn't a chance in hell he was thinking completely straight.

He didn't care. He'd follow orders, but he needed to be there when Emma came out. It was an unacceptable alternative to wait for news elsewhere. Lord knew she'd never admit it, but Emma would need him. He didn't allow himself to consider any other outcomes.

Ruby brushed the back of her hand against his, a silent show of support as she smiled tightly. With her own vest on and gun drawn, hair back in a tight braid, she barely resembled the fun-loving Ruby Lucas he'd come to know. The woman beside him was hard as nails and prepared to take down whoever stood in her way.

All around them the team assembled, the soft shuffle of boots on pavement and vests rustling against guns familiar. Killian tightened his grip on the cool metal of his own firearm, oddly thankful for the light drizzle. It never rained in the desert. Today of all days, he was glad of the reminder he wasn't there anymore, Milah's ghost waiting for him behind every grain of sand.

The quiet was broken by the sharp pop of gunfire, first one shot, then another, and Killian's chest threatened to cave in on itself. Orders were shouted, all attempt at surprise abandoned, and the team moved. He went with them, Ruby at his side, jogging across the street and down the alley to the side entrance of the abandoned pawnshop. An informant claimed to have seen Gold himself emerge from the place around dawn, but it had taken hours to get the information to the right people.

 _Let her be here. Let her be alive._

His thoughts ran on a loop, a silent chant and prayer as the side entrance came into view. But before they reached it, the rusty door opened on its own. Everyone halted their steps, dropping into protective crouches behind HRT's equipment. He was barely aware of the shouts echoing through the alley, his attention entirely focused on the door as Emma nearly fell out of it, clutching her right wrist to her chest and badly limping on bare feet.

He swore, ignoring the hands grasping at his arm, the caution that it might be a trap as he barreled through the crowd of agents. "Emma!" It was the voice of another man, relief and terror breaking her name across his lips. She stumbled as she put weight on her left leg, filthy and wearing what was left of that sodding dress he hated so much. He tracked her movements as she lurched forward, her ankle swollen and deeply bruised.

"Bloody hell." He caught her before she fell, struggling to be gentle as she cried out in pain. Other agents surrounded them, but Killian paid them no mind, scooping Emma into his arms and turning for the street. She was covered in blood, some dried, some fresh, bruises blooming across her pale skin. Up close, not only were her wrist and ankle badly swollen, but deeply discolored. The sight instantly filled Killian with desperate rage, wishing he could strangle Gold with his own bare hands. "I've got you, love," he murmured softly as he struggled not to jostle her, fighting to temper his voice into something other than murderous rage. "I've got you."

"Killian…" she rasped, peering up at him through one bloodshot eye. The other was swollen shut, but it didn't stop her from reaching up with her left hand, her palm icy against his cheek. "You…found…me."

"I will always find you." He swallowed hard, spotting the paramedics. "Where are you hurt? Is this your blood, love?"

"Some," she slurred, her arm dropping as though the effort of holding it up was suddenly too much. "Not…he didn't…"

"It's all right. We can talk later." He kissed her gently one last time before laying her down on the gurney, moving slightly to get out of the way but refusing to let go of her left hand. The paramedics got to work quickly, covering her in a blanket and inserting an IV, hooking up various monitors. It was terrifying to watch how quickly they moved, the concerned furrows on their brows, but Emma kept her eyes on him.

 _I love you_.

He wanted to say it, wanted her to hear in it the fierceness with which he meant it, but Killian kept his mouth shut. Pain shone in her eyes, and no matter how very much he meant it, he wouldn't say those three words for the first time out of desperate relief when she may not even remember. Not with an audience. "I'm right here, love," he said instead, hoping she would read the rest in his stare. But whether from exhaustion or pain, Emma's eyes slipped shut, and for one terrifying moment, he wasn't certain she was still breathing.

"Emma!" Her name echoed off the brick surrounding them, and his eyes must have been wild by the look the paramedic gave him.

"She's breathing." The other man pointed to the monitor showing Emma's heartbeat, a steady rhythm as his partner loaded the gurney with Emma's still form on it into the back of the ambulance, Killian's hand tingling with the loss of her skin on his. "Her pressure is high, likely from pain. We've given her ten milligrams of morphine to help with that. We'll do the best we can with the drive, but the city only gives us so much to work with." With a nod toward the open ambulance door, the paramedic waited for Killian to climb in, slamming the doors shut behind him.

"I'm so sorry, love." Careful of the IV, Killian took her undamaged hand carefully in his, ignoring the other paramedic. He winced as they began to drive, the uneven street jostling them about, and suddenly found himself grateful Emma was unconscious. "I'm so sorry we didn't find you sooner."

She appeared terribly fragile strapped to the gurney, a blanket wrapped tightly around her – he hated it. Emma wasn't meant to be fragile or delicate, not like this. He took a shaky breath, eyes flicking over her scrapes and bruises, the blood caked in her hair.

 _She's alive_ , he reminded himself, his stare moving to the small portable monitor in the back of the ambulance, the technological proof Emma was breathing on her own, her heart still beating. The paramedics were certain her wrist was broken, likely the ankle and a few of her ribs. Beyond that, her cuts were mostly superficial, excluding the gashes on her wrists that looked like a consequence of fighting restraints.

She had fought. Emma Swan was a survivor, same as he. She would come through this. She had to come through it. Killian was quite certain he wouldn't survive losing her.

A team was waiting as soon as the ambulance doors opened, and all Killian could do was stand numbly to the side as they worked. A young nurse tried to move him into the waiting room, but he growled a refusal at her. No one asked him to leave after that, and he made sure to stay out of the way to keep it so.

But when they announced she would need surgery to repair her wrist – _There's an old break, looks like it healed badly. Call the OR._ – he no longer had a choice in the matter.

Ruby was in the waiting room when he trudged in, surrounded by a sea of agents. They all looked up as he entered, the room suddenly quiet. "They've taken her to surgery to repair her wrist," he said, answering the silent questions. The sound of his own voice harsh in the suddenly still room, he stopped, struggling with his anger. It was the same wrist. The bastard had broken the same bloody wrist. Gold may not have known it yet, but there was a hole in the ground with his name on it the moment Killian found him.

He took one deep breath, then another, blinking past the inferno of rage burning his veins. "Beyond the wrist, her ankle is also broken, as well as two ribs, and a half dozen more seriously bruised. Minor lacerations and dehydration." He hadn't had a chance to ask the doctor the rest, but he'd been around injuries enough to know – as long as the scans didn't reveal internal bleeding, Emma would make a full recovery, physically.

In time.

The soft buzz of chatter restarted, and Ruby guided him into a chair. "You should know Gold is dead," she said quietly, and for a moment he wished it weren't so, just so he would have the pleasure of killing the bastard himself. "We'll have to ask Emma what happened…later. But from the looks of things, he held her in the basement of the pawnshop for the last few days. She must have gotten herself free and shot him."

"Good." If there was anyone who deserved to take Gold off the board, it was Emma. Whatever anger he felt, whatever savage desire laid in his heart to do the man harm, she had tenfold.

"She's going to need you when she wakes up. Longer. She'll probably need someone to stay with her while she recovers." Ruby watched him carefully, evaluating as she spoke. "I don't care how stubborn she is, Emma can't use crutches with a broken wrist. She'll hurt herself all over again."

"I haven't any intention of leaving." Killian stared back, willing Ruby to argue with him. He was spoiling for a fight.

She must have seen it, her voice softening. "It's Emma, Killian. She'll push you away. She isn't…she doesn't accept help easily. "

"I don't give a bloody damn if she curses me from sunup to sundown. I'm not going anywhere. Dave will allow me the time."

Ruby smiled, wan and weak, but a smile. "With all those broken ribs, I guess she'll just have to listen to you." Killian nodded, still far too keyed up to find any humor in the situation. He paced the majority of Emma's surgery, and when he wasn't pacing, he was in a chair with his knee bouncing like mad.

It was the middle of the night before the doctor announced Emma could have visitors, one at a time. Ruby nodded from where she stood talking to Regina, coffee cup in hand. _Go_ , she mouthed, making a small motion with a flick of her wrist before turning back to her boss.

"Emma needs to rest," the doctor said as he led Killian down the hall. "She's probably going to be pretty out of it from the pain medication, so keep it short. Because of the surgery, she won't have a cast on her wrist, but be careful not to move it. It will still take time to heal. We put a cast on her ankle as well."

Killian nodded, not bothering to argue. Aye, he wouldn't touch her wrist, and he'd keep conversation to a minimum, but he wasn't going anywhere. Emma had been moved to her own room, and if it were like any other bloody hospital room, there would be a chair he could doze in until she woke.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, still hovering in the doorway once the doctor departed,the full weight of Emma's injuries slamming into him. He'd known to expect the bruising – he'd seen it when she came tumbling out of that hovel. But somehow, surrounded by machines and wires, her skin so pale against the harsh white hospital sheets, it was worse. So, so much worse.

And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

Swallowing against his tight throat, Killian slowly made his way into the room. They'd cleaned her up, but dried blood still clung to her hair, limp and snarled. She was asleep, though one of her eyes – beautiful, jungle green eyes that danced when she laughed – remained little more than a slit buried in swelling.

Ignoring the sting of tears, he carefully took a seat beside her, reaching for her left hand and delicately winding his fingers through hers. For a long time, he simply sat, watching her breathe, watching her _live_ despite Gold's attempts to the contrary. There would be time to vent his anger later – perhaps he'd call Dave and see if he'd like to spar in the district gym.

Dave.

Killian tugged out his phone, realizing he'd never updated his friend. He tapped out a quick message and hit send before pocketing the device and turning his attention to Emma once more. Dave would fill in Robin.

She was watching him. "Hi," she croaked, the edge of her lips curving in a faint smile. "You…you're…here."

He hushed her quietly, pulling their joined fingers up enough to press a kiss to the back of her hand. "We can talk later, love, once you've rested."

Emma winced, glancing at her right hand where it lay against the blanket. "How bad?" she managed to ask, her eyes moving sluggishly as she scanned her body. Most of it was hidden beneath the sheets and blankets, but he imagined it wasn't too difficult for her to remember. The painkillers gave her a glazed expression, but he didn't miss the tightening in her jaw.

"Broken wrist and ankle. Several cracked ribs, more badly bruised." Killian forced himself to speak slowly, struggling to keep the anger out of his voice. Emma didn't deserve his rage. "A number of small cuts and bruises, though I suspect you knew that much."

She nodded, her eyes closing as she leaned back into the pillows, as though the short conversation was exhausting her. "Graham?" she asked after a long moment, her eyes still shut. "Is he…?" Her face said she knew he was dead, but Killian forced himself to say it anyway.

"Aye. They got him to Mass Gen, but…" He swallowed hard, grief and terror that it could have been Emma who coded on an OR table overwhelming him. "He didn't survive, love. I'm so sorry."

"I didn't think so. Gold said…" Her voice broke, and the fingers curled around his gave a weak squeeze, desperation making her grip stronger than he would have thought – and breaking his heart just a little bit more. "I…hoped it was a lie."

"Would that it were so." Killian took a shaky breath, weighing whether or not to tell her that Gold had met his maker as well.

"What?" Emma asked, watching him when he looked back up from their joined hands. "There's…more, isn't there?" A note of fear rang through the question, and he wanted to murder Gold all over again for putting that fear into Emma's voice.

"Gold is dead. One of your shots nicked his heart. He bled out before anyone got to him."

"Good."

"Aye." He rubbed his thumb across her palm, focusing on the feel of her skin against his. Emma was alive. She was warm, and breathing, and she would recover. He leaned closer, standing slightly to brush a kiss over an unmarred patch of skin along her hairline, snapping his eyes shut against the returning sting of tears. He wouldn't cry in front of Emma – not because he felt it a weakness, but because he knew his tears would upset her.

"Ruby and Regina are in the waiting room, if you'd like to see them," he offered, managing to keep his voice level by some feat of self-control. He didn't relish the idea of walking away from her just yet, but he needed to pull himself together, and the other women had been waiting just as long as he had.

She hesitated, and Killian nearly abandoned the idea, but then she nodded. "Okay," she rasped, squeezing his hand before letting go. "Killian?" she called as he stood, an odd note in her voice.

He turned back expectedly, waiting. He wanted to ask if she needed anything, could he get her water, ice, anything, but he remembered being the one in a hospital bed, emotionally and physically damaged – and he knew Emma. It wouldn't take much to make his Swan feel quite smothered, and he didn't trust his voice. So he didn't push, and after a long pause, she shook her head ever so slightly. "Never mind."

"All right. I'll be back in a tick." He ignored his uneasiness at the unasked question. There was something she'd wanted to say, but in the end, she hadn't. _Perhaps it's just the drugs_ , he told himself, slipping into the hall and pushing a weary hand through his hair. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten or showered.

He made it into the next hall before he had to stop, vision blurred. He pressed his fist against his mouth, desperate to master his emotions as he leaned heavily against the wall. Emma needed him to be strong enough for both of them – she didn't need the weight of his grief on top of her own emotional battles. She never needed to know how terrified he'd been, how dangerously close he'd been to blaming himself, for not asking more questions, for not forcing answers out of her.

How many times he'd wondered if he could have prevented this, had he just been willing to push a bit harder.

But that was his cross to bear, not hers. He forced himself to breathe, choking and gasping through the exhaustion and overwhelming clash of relief and terror at getting Emma back in the state she was in, until he brought himself back under control. Ducking into the restroom, he splashed cold water on his face, the red-rimmed and bloodshot eyes easily explained by exhaustion.

Ruby and Regina remained where he'd left them, talking quietly in a corner of the waiting room. They had taken seats, but stood when he approached, faces grim. "How is she?" Ruby asked before he'd come to a stop, arms folded around herself as though she needed holding together. Killian understood the feeling all too well.

He shrugged, battling a fresh wave of helplessness. "It's not good. I fear it will be some time before she's fully recovered." He rubbed the back of his neck, fighting a yawn. Exhaustion was catching up to him. "She'd like to see you. Both of you," he added, inclining his head toward Regina. "I'll go fetch a coffee, give the two of you a moment."

With the low murmur of their voices at his back, Killian headed for the cafeteria. Inside the hospital, there was no telling it was the middle of the night – injury and illness cared not for the hours on the clock. He hated the antiseptic feeling of the place, the endless white walls, the tension that lived in the air itself.

He wondered how long they would keep Emma. Her injuries were serious, but not life threatening. With her ankle in a cast and her wrist bolted into place, there was little more to do than wait for the bones to knit themselves back together. In Emma's case, that likely meant keeping her off her feet and following doctor's orders. Ruby was right. Though Emma may feel otherwise, the combination of broken wrist, broken ankle, broken ribs, and crutches was too dangerous.

For the first time since the entire ordeal began, he allowed himself a tiny smile. Emma was so bloody stubborn when she set her mind to something, almost to the point of ridiculousness. But no sooner had the thought run through his mind than his smile froze, lips curving into a scowl. That stubbornness was likely what had saved her life, aye – but was it also what had gotten her into this mess? Graham had been ushering her back toward the van before they'd turned around. _Why_ had they turned around?

It would be some time before he had those answers, if ever. Emma's recovery was his priority, but the FBI surely had others. There was Graham's funeral to attend to, family to notify, not that Killian recalled him ever mentioning family. And there were the remains of Gold's criminal enterprise to dismantle before someone new slid into his place, eager to take up the reins of depravity.

Taking a sip of his newly purchased coffee, Killian grimaced against the bitter, burnt substance. _The hospital must employ the same method of brewing sludge as the district_ , he thought as he swallowed again. He had been awake for so long it wouldn't matter if he had ten cups of coffee – it was likely that the moment he gave himself permission to sleep, he'd be out

He took his time returning to Emma's room, not wanting to rush Ruby or Regina. The women had worked together a long time, and whatever he was feeling in the aftermath of Emma's capture and subsequent recovery, the two women closest to her likely weren't any different. They loved her, too.

"She's asleep," Ruby said softly, nearly walking into him a few feet down from Emma's room. "Regina left a few minutes ago. I'm going to run home to shower. She'll be out for awhile, I think, if you wanted to do the same."

"No, I'll stay. Perhaps catch a bit of sleep in that chair."

"I thought as much. Can I bring you anything? Some real coffee?"

Killian nodded gratefully, digging in his pocket for a crumpled ten. "Aye, black coffee from anywhere that can properly brew it would be much appreciated." He hesitated, but after today, he didn't care anymore what Emma had or hadn't told Ruby. Fishing in his pocket once more, he produced his keys and slid the one to Emma's door off. "Could you stop by her flat and fetch her some of her own clothes? She's rather fond of the navy pants in the third drawer of her dresser. Well, possibly in the third drawer, possibly in a heap on the floor. There's a grey top that…"

"I know." Ruby closed her fingers around the key, brushing his hand. She was smiling again, a secretive, knowing smile. "I _didn't_ know she gave you a key."

"It was a matter of convenience," he mumbled, staring down into the Styrofoam cup.

"Uh huh. She might have told you that – she might have told herself that – but give yourself a little more credit, Killian. Emma wouldn't have given you a key to her apartment if she didn't want you there all the time."

"Aye," he agreed automatically, not allowing himself to think too long on it. In the moment she'd given him the key, he'd seen the fear in Emma's eyes, read her need to make it a trivial matter, but he'd wondered where that fear came from, suspected that the key had meant a great deal more than _convenience_. But Emma wasn't ready to admit that, and he wasn't certain she would be anytime soon.

Shoving aside the thought, he glanced down at the floor, hesitating, but in the end, what did it really matter? "There's also a pair of socks she rather fancies. Second drawer, with anchors on them." His eyes slid shut of their own volition, conjuring the image of Emma with a playful smile wearing his socks, deep navy lingerie, and nothing else. He'd left the socks at her place accidentally, but he hadn't minded in the least when he'd discovered she'd put them to better use. It had been early in their...relationship...and she'd since taken to wearing them regularly. Perhaps it would be a comfort to her now.

"Anchor socks?" Ruby's grin had brightened when he opened his eyes again, the first hint of true happiness he'd seen from her since the entire ordeal had begun. "I'm pretty sure Emma doesn't own anchor socks."

"They're mine," he admitted, scratching behind his ear and resisting the urge to fidget under her inspection. "Or, they were. Before Emma stole them."

"She does tend to steal things. I'm pretty sure a few of my dresses are in her closet somewhere." Ruby's hand on his arm was unexpected, but it was a comfort as she tightened her fingers in a reassuring squeeze. "I'll find the socks. Go be with her."

"Thank you," he managed to get out, his voice hoarse as Ruby nodded and slipped away. Once, he might have cared that he had just revealed far more to Red than he'd intended, but exhaustion and worry had taken their toll.

And it wasn't that Emma's injuries had made him love her any more than he had before, but an almost frantic voice in his mind begged him to tell her, to ensure she _knew_ how he felt. Perhaps her ordeal would bring a sharper focus to her feelings, but there was always the chance it could go the other way – that the force of emotion she would have to deal with during her recovery wouldn't leave room for love in her life. So perhaps he was a little less guarded with their secrets than he ought to be, but really, what did he have to lose?

Killian rubbed against the ache in his chest as he slipped back into Emma's darkened room, slowly easing down into the chair at her bedside to avoid making any noise. His eyes flicked to the monitors, watching the steady beat of her heart until his eyes grew heavy and sleep took him.

-x-

Emma woke to a dark room, her entire body throbbing with pain. It took a moment for consciousness to catch up to her, and for a handful of terrible seconds, it wasn't stiff hospital sheets on her skin but cold concrete. With a wince, she managed to crack open her swollen eye, struggling to focus and shove aside suffocating panic. If the faint glow of the sky outside her window was any indication, it was just before dawn, and the light was a welcome reminder she wasn't in Gold's basement anymore. Turning her head slightly, she found Killian asleep in the chair he'd been in when the drugs had pulled her back under, his body slumped forward with his arms pillowing his head on her mattress.

Relief threatening to choke her, she reached for him, tentatively stroking her fingers through his dark hair. There were a lot of things she'd wished for alone in the dark, but in the end, it had been Killian she dreamt of when exhaustion won. It was odd the images her brain had latched on to – not the way he grabbed onto her hips, nor the habit he had of slipping into the shower behind her. No, her dreams had been of the tired smile he wore when he first caught sight of her at the end of a long day – and the look on his face right before he'd kissed her the night their desires finally boiled over.

Waking up to find herself trapped, certain she was going to die alone – that had been worse than the agonizing pain that grew stronger by the hour.

It sort of blew her insistence to Ruby about _just sex_ right out of the water.

And then she remembered how wrecked Killian looked when she'd laid eyes on him in that alley, deep bruises under his eyes, several days worth of stubble grazing his usually neatly trimmed jawline. She'd been in so much pain, clinging so desperately to her attempt to take just one more step, then another, then another...but she hadn't missed that for everything she went through in that basement, some part of it might have been worse for him.

The more awake she became, the more she became aware of the grime on her face, the snarled mess that was her hair. God, she would give anything for a shower – or even better, a bath. A long, hot bath in clean water, followed by her own bed. With Killian in it.

Searching for a more comfortable position, Emma shifted her weight slightly, the shooting pain that resulted hurtling her back into the damp, cold basement. She focused instead on the softness of Killian's hair, the steady rise and fall of his back. There had been moments, terrifying, dark moments, where she didn't think she would ever see him again – that the last memory he would have of her was an empty pillow in the morning.

She'd had so much time to think, trapped in that basement she was certain would be her grave. Too much time. She'd always been in danger of losing herself to her racing thoughts, but with nothing else to do but bide her time, she'd gone over everything with Killian from start to end.

 _Everything_.

It had been impossible not to be angry at first, after how everything had gone down at Gold's the night he'd turned up in the middle of her investigation – but if she'd known it then and not wanted to admit it, she definitely knew months later that Killian had done his best to spare her. It had been an impossible situation, and if she'd had someone like Rose in her life, someone in that kind of danger, she didn't know the lengths she'd go to in order to get them back.

And since then, what was her biggest complaint? That he forced her to eat something other than grilled cheese? That he wanted to be with her as many nights as she'd let him? That he wanted to make love to her and refused to let her off the hook when she tried to shove her feelings under the proverbial rug?

That he loved her, but was too afraid of her reaction to say so?

And what about her? She cared for him. Maybe she loved him. It had been so long since she'd opened her heart to anyone. Was she already there and didn't know it? After all, what was love when you weren't eighteen and vibrating with every emotion possible? Was it wanting him beside her in the middle of the night, was it missing the rumble of his laugh, or was it something else entirely?

 _Home is the place, when you leave, you just miss it._

Neal had told her that, a long time ago, before he'd lied to her face, before he'd gotten himself killed. He'd been wrong about so many things, but he'd been right about that. Was that what Killian was to her? Home?

Killian made a soft noise, drawing her attention to his stirring form. "Swan?" His accent was always thicker right when he woke up, voice rough. She loved waking up with that voice in her ear, his body heavy behind hers and warm. Despite him being only feet away, she suddenly felt very alone in the hospital bed. "Everything all right, love? Are you in pain? I can fetch the nurse."

"In a minute." The longer she was awake, the more everything hurt – not the excruciating, nausea-inducing pain she'd lived with at Gold's, but a dull, creeping ache she knew would only grow stronger. But she wanted a few minutes before the haze of pain medication took back over, a few minutes where she could think clearly, where it wasn't a monumental effort to focus on Killian's face – where she could assure herself he was real and not a cruel dream about to end. "You look exhausted," she said as she slipped her fingers along his jaw, her thumb brushing beneath his eyes. "You need to sleep in a bed, not that chair," she scolded lightly, ignoring her relief at finding him beside her when she opened her eyes. A part of her wanted to tell him – to verbalize how happy she was to see him – but something held her back, and she defaulted back to the superficial conversation she knew she could handle.

"I'll manage." He kissed her knuckles as they neared his lips, though his gaze remained locked with hers. "Don't waste energy worrying about me. You need your strength. Are you certain I can't fetch the nurse?"

Emma shook her head, dropping her hand to his shoulder and pulling. She didn't want to talk, didn't want to give Killian the chance to continue asking questions she wouldn't want to answer. "Kiss me."

He smiled faintly, sliding out of the chair to lean over her. The kiss he gave her was a whisper of what she wanted, a ghost of the real thing. She caught the back of his neck with her hand, tugging him closer in a silent plea.

"I don't want to hurt you, Emma."

"Just one kiss." She couldn't explain the rest to him – that she wanted the taste of him on her tongue to wash away the remnants of dust and blood that seemed to linger. She wanted his scruff to scrape against her softer skin, to ground her and make all of this reality, not a dream she would wake from any moment to find herself broken and still covered in Graham's blood. "Please."

He hesitated, but he didn't resist when she guided his lips back to hers, and then his palms were cradling her cheeks, careful of her bruises. He tasted of stale coffee, but Emma didn't give a damn as she threaded her fingers into his hair and held him to her. Emotion choked her, and she'd blame it on her exhaustion or the medication or anything other than the truth she knew it revealed, but tears rose in her eyes, her cheeks damp when Killian pulled away.

His own eyes were glassy.

"I was afraid I'd lost you." His voice was a ragged whisper, and his hand trembled ever so slightly as he moved it from her cheek to her hair, rubbing a strand between his fingers. Stretching forward, he pressed a kiss against her forehead, another at her temple, yet another at the corner of her mouth.

She twisted to meet him, but the motion left her gasping and gritting her teeth against the pain in her side. Killian stepped back instantly, guilt coating his features. "I'd better get the nurse," he said, already turning for the door. "I'm so sorry, love."

He was gone before she could get her breath back enough to protest.

The nurse came back with him, showing her how to administer her own pain medication and calmly explaining there was a limit. Emma nodded, her thoughts already growing muddled as the drug worked its way through her, but she managed to catch the woman by the arm before she left. Beyond the windows, the sun was just rising. "When can I go home?" She didn't want to wake up in the strange hospital again – she wanted her own things to ground her.

The nurse patted her hand, and if Emma had her full faculties, she'd have snarled a response right then and there. "You worry about getting better. The doctor will be in to talk to you later." The woman paused, glancing at Killian and his anxious expression with a frown. "Only family is allowed at this hour."

"He's my fiancé," Emma lied, not daring to look at Killian as she said it. She'd been in law enforcement long enough to know engaged couples were almost always afforded the same privileges of married couples. She didn't know why a ring made a damn bit of difference – one piece of metal and some overpriced rock did not change how important a person was – but she couldn't stomach the thought of Killian being banned from her room. It was one thing for her to kick him out, which she intended to do very shortly, because he needed to sleep, but for someone else to do it was unacceptable.

The nurse looked skeptical, and Emma followed her gaze to her bare left hand. "I don't wear…not at work," she got out, her eyes growing heavy. "Not…safe."

Killian remained still at her side, not speaking until the nurse was safely out of earshot. She waited for him to question her, to tease her, or even for that overly serious look he got sometimes, but instead his face was carefully blank. "Can I get you anything, love? I've asked Ruby to stop by your apartment, and…"

"Go home," Emma slurred, pushing his hand away. She meant to be gentle, but her limbs were beginning to feel like lead. Fighting the pull of the drugs, she peered up at him, the exhaustion coating his features. "You look…terrible. Go sleep." Too tired to keep her eyes open, she let them fall shut. It had the added benefit of not having to dissect the look on his face after she'd referred so casually to them being engaged, as though Emma were actually the marrying kind and Killian might stick around long enough for it to happen. "Come back. Take me…take home. Later."

The next time she woke up, Killian was right where she'd left him sitting in the chair. He hadn't left. She'd told him to go, and yet, there he was, sipping a cup of coffee.

"How long was I out?" she asked groggily, attempting to sit up before receiving a sharp reminder of the reasons she shouldn't. She blinked a few times, happy to find the swelling on her face was subsiding. She could almost see out of her right eye like normal.

"Several hours. Ruby came by with bagels and some of your clothes. She also brought you a hot chocolate that should still be warm." Killian nodded at the small bag on the table beside the bed, her clothing neatly stacked beside it and a Starbucks cup. "I've also spoken with the doctor and pending a final exam, he's willing to send you home. But there are conditions."

"Conditions?" Emma reached for the hot chocolate, huffing with frustration when she couldn't quite get it. Killian stood immediately, handing it to her without comment before resuming his seat.

"Aye." Killian sighed, scratching behind his ear and gazing out the window. "You've sustained a number of injuries, love. It will take time for this to all heal properly, and for that to happen, you must rest. Even with surgery on the wrist instead of a cast, it won't sort itself overnight."

"Got it. The Netflix marathon to end all Netflix marathons," she joked, mentally grimacing. Emma wasn't made for weeks on her couch. It would slowly drive her insane to be locked up in that apartment, but saying that wasn't going to get her out of the small, cold room.

"Aye. I'll be there to ensure it is so. There will be follow up visits as well, to check on your progress and ensure the bones are knitting back together as they should." There was no humor in his voice, and Killian was frowning slightly when he turned to her. "This is serious, Emma."

"I know, but I'll be okay during the day. You don't have to babysit me." She ignored the little voice in the back of her head already protesting that she'd never make it to a doctor's office on her own in her condition.

"It's not up for discussion."

Emma forgot sometimes that Killian had been an officer in the military before the BPD, that he'd once been the one to give orders that were followed without question. He'd never tried to order her around before, and in some distant, logical place, she knew he wasn't intentionally trying to do it now, either – but he was, and it chafed instantly.

"So I go from Gold's prisoner to yours? In my own home?" she snapped, glaring at him with the full force of her frustrations. She knew it wasn't fair the moment she said it, and Killian's wince lanced straight through her, but she was exhausted and in pain. When Killian had said she could go home, a fierce longing to be in her own space, surrounded by her own things, had plowed through her. And it wasn't that she didn't want him around – she did – but not every moment of every day. She wasn't ready for that. She probably never would be.

She definitely was never going to be ready to be told what to do by a man in her life, no matter how much she cared about him.

Killian seemed to struggle with himself, his hands twisted in his lap and his gaze dark. When he finally spoke again, his words were clipped, measured. "The doctor will only agree to sign your discharge paperwork with the promise you'll be looked after. I've already discussed it with Dave, and I have plenty of vacation time. We didn't save you from Gold just so you could…"

"Save me?" Emma scoffed, rolling her eyes as her hackles rose all over again. "You're not my white knight, Killian. No one saves me. I saved myself. I shot Gold. I crawled my way out of that basement." She was working herself up as she went, her volume rising and her heart pounding. She'd been doing so well not thinking too much about that basement, about what it had taken to get herself free, but there was no stopping the flood of images. "He was dead by the time you showed up. If you hadn't been there, I'd have gotten myself to the street and ended up right where I am. I don't need you to take care of me. I'm perfectly capable."

Killian simply stared at her, the only indication he had any thoughts on her words at all the way the tips of his ears flushed and his jaw tightened. "I don't wish to argue with you, love. It pains me to even say it, but you could have died." His features softened slightly as he reached for her, his fingers curling around her uninjured wrist. "But you didn't, despite what appears to be his best efforts to the contrary. You've a fair bit of recovery ahead, and I simply want to help. Let me help you, Emma. Let me be there for you. I'm not going anywhere."

In the end, she agreed. Maybe it was because she wanted to get the hell out of the hospital before she went stir crazy; maybe it was because the sheets were scratchy and the food was terrible.

Or maybe it was because when Killian said _I'm not going anywhere_ , it wasn't just a statement. It was a promise, and despite her hesitance at having him so close at all times, wasn't that what she'd wished for trapped in that basement? A chance to see Killian again, the time to come to terms with her feelings for him? Time to figure it out, time to learn each other, time to carve out a space for him in her battered and broken heart? The universe had given it to her, and who was she to spit it back?

Or maybe it was because he knew her well enough that not only did he ask Ruby for her favorite shirt, but also his ridiculous socks she'd stolen weeks ago. Because even if she could only wear one of them with her broken ankle in a cast, the look he'd given her helping her put it on had been one precious moment where everything else had ceased to exist – where all the horror of the last few days dropped away and there was just a man that meant the world to her smiling like she was the sun.

So when Killian lifted her into his arms from the passenger seat, she summoned up a genuine smile – Killian hated her fake smiles – and burrowed her face against his neck to hide the apprehension clawing at her throat.

 **When I sit down and start writing a MC fic, I don't really outline. I sort of figure the story out as I go, with a few notable exceptions. And one of the things I knew from day 1 was that Graham would end up dead, Emma would get up back in Gold's hands and that she would save herself - at least from the immediate danger. I've always been drawn to that piece of Emma, that she's a princess but she's NOT a damsel in distress and this was my nod to it, however dark and twisty it may be.**

 **I'm also doing a fic giveaway on Tumblr. I'm nowforruin there as well. Come say hi!**


	15. Chapter 15

Emma jerked awake, whimpering as pain shot through her. She lay in the middle of her bed, panting in the darkness, sweaty sheets tangled around her as the familiar sound of Killian's rapid steps approached. "I'm fine," she rasped, reaching blindly for the glass of water on her nightstand and cursing as she knocked it over. Resisting the urge to cry in sheer frustration, she found Killian in the dim light, resolutely setting her jaw before repeating herself. "I'm _fine_."

He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed after picking up the now-empty glass and placing it back on the nightstand next to the neat row of prescription bottles. He'd mop up the water in a minute, like he had the last two nights. "Emma, perhaps if you…" He reached for her, swearing under his breath as his hand landed on the damp sheet twisted around her hips. She didn't bother arguing when he sighed, gently untangling her before scooping her up.

Gritting her teeth against the pain of movement, she pressed her cheek to his bare chest, breathing in the clean scent of his skin. God, she missed having him in her bed – missed the simple moments that didn't seem to exist anymore, that she hadn't let herself value when they had. How many times had she woken in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, only to come back and find him half-awake, waiting to open his arms and draw her back in with incoherent mumbles? How many times had she watched him in the dim light of the streetlamps, her heart curiously full and her mind quiet as his back rose and fell with his breaths? How many mornings had she taken for granted the quiet comfort of lingering in his arms, sometimes even just for a few precious seconds before the real world intruded?

Killian was too busy taking care of her, worrying about hurting her, to even sleep beside her now, never mind hold her close in the middle of the night. All it had taken was one gasp of pain that first night when his arm had gone around her waist, and that had been that. She had tried to convince him it was nothing, that even breathing too deeply hurt these days, but he wasn't having it, and she was too exhausted to continue pleading.

And too proud to beg.

So Killian had slept on her couch for the last three nights, his distance another addition to the growing list of things that were driving her slowly insane, the top of which was the conversation she knew was looming off in the distance like a growing bank of clouds. She had called him her fiancé, and he hadn't said a word. And it wasn't that Emma wanted to talk about it – though some part of her was morbidly, terrifyingly curious as to what he'd made of the thought – but she knew Killian, and Killian wouldn't let something like that go. Not forever.

Maybe it was better she just brought it up. Despite the horrifying dream, she felt more lucid than she had been in days. "Wait." She stopped him with a hand on his wrist as he turned away after setting her gingerly on the couch, his blanket and pillow neatly stacked on top of one another, the blanket still folded. It was the middle of the night, but he hadn't even been making an attempt to sleep. Had her monsters become his monsters? Hadn't she already done enough damage? Maybe he hadn't brought it up because he didn't see it as even the remotest possibility, not with the drain she was on his life.

"Swan?"

She swallowed hard, burying the thought once again. "Can you just…wait?" she asked instead, tugging lightly on his wrist and nodding toward the couch.

He scrubbed his palm over his face, his sigh weary. "The water will warp the wood. I had best see to it now." He bent swiftly to press a kiss to her hair before heading back into the bedroom. Emma listened in the stillness of the night to the sounds of him changing the bedding and cleaning up the mess, drawers opening and closing, fabric rustling.

Was this what her life with Killian was to be for the foreseeable future? Him fussing over her like an invalid, lying awake on her couch that was too short for him, too afraid of hurting her to sleep next to her – too worried for even a book to keep him and his insomnia company.

He emerged after a few minutes, empty glass in hand with a fresh shirt for her. Emma wasn't sure what was worse – the painful maneuvering getting out of the damp shirt required, or the resolute way Killian's eyes didn't so much as flick down to her bare chest and legs as he helped her change. At least he'd brought her one of his soft cotton tshirts. She didn't bother to hide the deep breath she took once the fabric was settled over her, drawing in the scent of him that lingered in the fabric even as her ribs protested.

"Ready, love?"

Where once they'd spent their nights tangled up in each other, the middle of the night reserved for Killian naked or nearly naked at the stove, her laughing on the counter, now they had a new routine. She had a nightmare. Killian woke up when she screamed in her sleep. Killian changed the bedding, helped her change her clothes. Then he brought her back to bed with a fresh glass of water and one of his infuriatingly gentle kisses on her cheek. She knew she wasn't in any condition for what she really wanted, but did he have to treat her like a damned porcelain doll?

"I won't break, you know," she said in response to his question, lifting her gaze to his and trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. He was trying, and for all his fussing irritated her at times, she needed to remember that. "If I was going to break, it would have been in that basement."

It was a careless remark, but it was the first time she'd brought it up since he'd brought her back to her apartment. The first few days were a haze; she'd been so doped up on painkillers she barely remembered where one day ended and another started. She'd slept a lot, but she was tired of sleeping, tired of being barely conscious.

And even though she'd been sleeping endlessly, Killian looked like he hadn't for more than a few hours over the last several days. His eyes were bloodshot, and his hair stuck out every which way as though he'd been tugging on it. He probably had been.

"This isn't going to work, Killian," she said softly, letting her hand drop from his wrist to the tidy, untouched stack of bedding. "It's making me nuts, actually. And you look like shit. Probably has a lot to do with sleeping on this god awful couch."

"It's perfectly fine." He didn't sound fine. He sounded exhausted and on the verge of collapse.

"Dammit, Killian, you can sleep in my bed or you can go home." Pain made her cranky, and she was so tired of having this conversation, even after a few days. "You're treating me like an invalid. You're not my nursemaid."

"I asked you once, what I was to you. I don't recall receiving an answer, so nursemaid seems as good as any." It was the closest he'd come to snapping at her, his attempt at humor carrying a bite.

"That's not fair," she said softly, reining in her temper. Sniping at each other in the middle of the night wasn't going to help anything – though even if it may not have been fair, maybe she deserved his comment, anyway.

Killian's shoulders slumped, and he pushed his fingers through his hair before taking a seat next to her, slowly and carefully. "No, I suppose it's not," he said, gingerly wrapping an arm around her and sighing as she laid her cheek against his chest, his skin cool against her heated cheeks. "I apologize, love."

"You'd be less cranky if you got some sleep," she said gently, not wanting to argue, but not quite willing to give up just yet.

"You may not be made of glass, but you're still quite breakable at the moment. I can't tolerate the thought of hurting you." His thumb dragged lazily over her shoulder, a touch that any other night she might not have noticed – Killian rarely could keep his hands off her when they were alone together. But tonight it was the first time he'd touched her like that, casually, without obvious precision and hesitation, since she'd clawed her way out of that basement.

Emma didn't respond immediately, slowly shifting her weight until she was pressed up to his side as much as her ribs would allow, focusing on the burn of pain rather than what she was about to admit. "I thought about it, you know, when I was down there. Your question. Me and you. Us. What you are to me." She had done more than think about it. She had obsessed, turning their last night together over and over in her mind until she'd been too exhausted to think.

"Emma, I didn't mean–"

"I think a part of you _did_ mean it," she continued, cutting off his apology before he could placate her into going to bed without saying the things she wanted – needed – to say.

Emma reached for his hand, turning his palm up and tracing the lines along it with her fingertip, her heart hammering behind her mending ribs. "The truth is that I don't know, Killian, not a hundred percent what exactly _we_ are." She started to take a deep breath, an old reflex to steady herself, but winced as her ribs burst into white hot pain. She plowed ahead anyway. "I _do_ know that whatever this is, I want it. I want it bad enough to lie to a nurse, because I want... _needed_ you there. Here."

She swallowed hard, her breaths shaky as she struggled to collect her thoughts without looking at Killian, the word _fiancé_ heavy in the air between them. But just like the morning she'd given him a key, he knew, somehow, that she was teetering on the edge of something she wasn't ready to give a name, and so he didn't. He simply spread his fingers beneath hers, lacing them together with a squeeze when she took the hint.

And he waited.

"I know you are not a simple distraction. Nothing has ever been simple when it comes to you. I…have feelings. Confusing, overwhelming, I don't know what to do with them feelings. I spent a lot of time thinking about how we left things, how I left things that morning we went after Gold. If I could go back and change it, I would have told you from the start I had a bad feeling about it. I wouldn't have left like a thief in the night." It was easier to say when she didn't have to look him in the eye, when instead she could focus on the dark hair on his forearm, the feel of the calluses on his palms – but her heart was still pounding furiously. "I miss you being there when I wake up," she whispered at last, the last, final thing she could find the strength to admit before she drowned in her own fears and insecurities.

Lifting their hands, Killian pressed a tender kiss to her skin, then another to her temple. "Let's go to bed, then, shall we?" he said, his voice rough – and exactly what she needed to hear.

Killian helped her up, his arm around her waist as she leaned her weight into him. Emma was grateful he didn't carry her again – there was only so much of that she could take. It was slow going, unable to put any real weight on her left ankle or hold onto anything with her right hand, but they managed to shuffle down the hall and back into her bedroom without further mishap.

"I apologize for being short," he said as he helped lower her to the mattress, the sheets already pulled back on her side of the bed. Exhaustion bled through every word, his brows knit together as he hovered while she got comfortable – as comfortable as she could be.

"You're exhausted. Come to bed."

"You're due for another dose." Killian gestured to the row of pill bottles on her nightstand. "I can see you trying to hide it, love, but you're in pain."

"It's not that bad."

"Emma."

She sighed, knowing in the end she would lose. She held out her hand, accepting the small white tablet and glass of water.

The bed shifted as he finally lay down, and Emma bit her lip to keep from making a sound. The last thing she wanted was to prove him right and send him back to the couch. She watched him from the corner of her eye in the dark, the sheet left to pool at his hips as he folded one arm behind his head and stared up at the ceiling.

Cautious of all her various injuries, Emma rolled onto her side, tucking herself against Killian. She let herself relax into him slowly, her injured wrist resting lightly on his chest. Only when she was fully settled did she realize she'd been holding her breath, letting it out in a long exhale.

Killian's hand came down, tentatively stroking through her hair. "I worry, Swan," he said into the darkness, his voice thick. "You've barely eaten these last several days, not even the hot chocolate Ruby brought."

"The pain meds make me nauseous," she admitted, closing her eyes as the newest dose began to work through her system, leaving her limbs heavy and her mind fuzzy. "I'm afraid if I eat I'll throw up, and throwing up with messed up ribs is far worse than the usual misery."

"You could have told me. I'll call the hospital in the morning, see if there's an alternative." His fingers continued on in their meandering path through her hair, and Emma nuzzled closer. The simple touch was more of a comfort than she could voice.

"Or I could not take as much," she mumbled into his skin, yawning and pressing her lips to his chest.

"You will heal faster if you're not in pain."

"I made it three days in that basement without any pain medication," she said without thinking, wincing as soon as the words left her mouth. She hadn't meant to tell him that, not now when both of their emotions were running so high. Nor did she want to think about it, relive it in the telling. There would be enough of that later – an inevitable internal investigation, the standard procedure of sending her to a shrink before she could go back to fieldwork. "Never mind, I'll…"

But Killian's hand had already stilled in her hair, the muscles of chest rigid beneath her cheek and hand. "Three days?" Icy rage shook in the words, and beneath her cheek, she could hear his heartbeat speed up.

"It's not important. Forget I…"

"Bollocks. Don't you bloody dare tell me to forget anything of what happened to you while that–"

"What happened to _me_ , Killian, not you." She rolled onto her back, ignoring the stab of pain and fixing her eyes on the ceiling. If only she hadn't opened her mouth. "Let me handle this my way."

He sighed, turning toward her with sad eyes. "Your way is to brick yourself in where no one can touch you. I won't make you speak of it until you're ready, but at some point, we will speak of it. You will have to face it eventually, and it's far better to do it sooner rather than later." It could have been harsh, from someone else, but in Killian's soft voice, it was only filled with a weary sense of the inevitable.

"Why? I already relive it every night," she spat bitterly, closing her eyes against the hot rush of tears. She didn't want to cry. She didn't want to be so exhausted, in so much pain, that her emotions ran wild despite her meager efforts to cage them in.

"In part because if you don't speak of it, eventually the memories will eat you alive. Trust me on that, love." He exhaled sharply, a flash of his own past in the words. "But also because I'm bloody selfish, and in the absence of the facts, all I'm able to do is conjure up my own version of events. I've an active imagination, you see."

Heart aching, Emma turned her eyes back toward him. It was easy to get lost in her own pain, to forget that despite her being the one captured, Killian had lived through a very different kind of hell. There had been a strange sort of peace in realizing she was going to die, in knowing how the story ended – Killian hadn't had that.

"After he shot Gr…he threw me in one of the vans. Surrounded by his thugs, I knew I didn't have a prayer of escaping the van. But when they stopped in the alley, I knew if I went down into the basement, I'd never come out. So I fought."

Killian's hand found hers, lacing their fingers together, but he didn't say anything. It was one of the things about him she'd always liked – he knew when to be silent, when even one word from him could tear her in two. With a shaky breath, she squeezed his hand and soldiered on.

"It didn't make much of a difference. They pushed me through the door, but I wasn't prepared to give up yet. Unfortunately for me, I was still wearing those heels, and the stairs were narrow and steep…" She forced herself to breathe, focusing on the scent of Killian surrounding her. She had escaped the basement. Gold was dead. "I tried to break my fall, but the stairs were concrete, and so was the floor. I heard my wrist snap. I must have blacked out, because the next thing I knew I was alone."

Alone, the cold damp of the concrete seeping through the thin layer of her dress, her hands tied and the swelling from her wrist causing the rope to bite into her skin. Exhausted and in blinding pain, Graham's blood not fully dried on her dress. Or was it her blood? It hadn't mattered. Nothing had mattered. She'd gotten Graham killed, and she was going to die in that basement.

Unable to continue, Emma moved back to Killian's side, burrowing into the crook of his neck. "You're not alone anymore, love," he murmured against her hair, his arm gingerly settling over her back. She nodded, drawing in the scent of his shampoo, oddly grateful he'd listened to Ruby and gone home for his own things when her friend had come to check on her. Who knew something as simple as his shampoo could be such a balm?

He said something else, the soft rumble of his voice washing over her, but between her own exhaustion and the effects of the medication, Emma was already asleep.

-x-

Killian took a deep, shuddering breath, glancing at Emma out of the corner of his eye as he shoved the keys into the ignition. She shouldn't have been out of her apartment, but there wasn't a chance in hell he could have stopped her from attending Graham's funeral.

Not that he'd had any right to tell her she couldn't go – nor had he wanted to. Emma needed to mourn her friend, or her emotions would eat at her. Things had been bad enough as it was the last week. Emma insisted on taking less and less of her pain medication, attempting to hide her winces and the way her breath caught at every stab of pain. He picked his battles, and most nights could manage to convince her to take a proper dose so she stood a chance of sleeping.

He'd only won because he'd told her it was that or he slept on the couch.

Graham's loss brought back his own memories of fallen comrades, soldiers who went out one morning and never came home. The sight of a flag-draped coffin had gutted him, and if he hadn't been so focused on holding Emma up, Killian just might have broken down. As it was he'd struggled to keep his emotions in check as the three sets of shots had rung out across the cemetery, a sea of blue and black spreading out across the damp grass to honor the fallen agent. Only Emma's slight jump at each round of gunfire had kept him focused on the task at hand – supporting her through what was likely one of the hardest days of her life.

He shifted in the driver's seat, the shoulders of his dress uniform stiff. He wanted to pull Emma into his arms and dry her tears, but she was staring out the window, lost in her own thoughts. Loosening his tie, he turned his attention to the road and started back toward her apartment.

"Aren't we going to The Midnight Ride?" Emma asked when they were nearly back, her first words the entire drive.

Killian hesitated, catching a glimpse of her red-rimmed, haunted eyes from the corner of his vision. The black she wore only heightened her pallor, as though the day's events had bleached the life out of her skin. "Are you certain that's wise?" he finally asked, hesitant to outright refuse her.

"I don't care. Graham's dead. The least I can do is go drink some of the shitty whiskey he loved so much." Her voice was raspy with tears, the words flat and tinged with bitterness.

He winced, the guilt in her voice something he'd known was coming, but had hoped wasn't. "This isn't your fault," he said quietly, pulling down a side street that would put them closer to the bar. It was only a few blocks from her apartment, but in her condition, they wouldn't be walking. "And I hardly think it's a wise idea to mix liquor with the medications you're taking."

"It should have been me," she said, as though that gave her permission to self-destruct.

Panic slammed into him, pure and lethal. Killian pulled over abruptly, wincing as the sudden stop jostled Emma, but he didn't apologize. "Don't."

"Don't what?" Her eyes flashed as she glared at him, her jaw set. "It _should_ have been me. Graham was trying to get us out of there. I decided to turn around. I wanted to go after Gold again. Graham only did it so I wouldn't be by myself."

"You can't go down this road, love."

"Says the man who spent five years blaming himself for someone else's death."

Killian grit his teeth, swallowing his desire to fire back. He knew what Emma was doing – he'd been where she was. "Which is why I'm telling you, don't do this to yourself. It doesn't bring them back. It only does you further damage. It was you who made me face the truth of Milah's death – the blame for that lay at the feet of the buggers who set those bombs, not me. And Graham's death is not your fault, Emma. That's on Gold."

She didn't say anything, her lips set in a thin, hard line. He waited, knowing it wouldn't be as simple as it sounded for her to accept the truth, but hoping for it anyway.

"Are we going to the bar or what?" Emma finally snapped, breaking eye contact and staring out her window. "Everyone else will be there already. You've made us late enough."

"You push all you like, love. I'm not going anywhere," Killian said softly, shoving back every voice inside his head shouting with frustration. Tightening his grip on the steering wheel, he turned the car back toward the bar.

Emma was sullen as he helped her inside once they arrived, holding her body so stiffly that they touched as little as possible. It had to have made her injuries more painful, but he wasn't in the mood to have a public row over it – especially not when he already full well knew it wasn't him Emma was upset with. He was just a convenient punching bag, and for now, he'd allow it.

Ruby smiled hesitantly when she saw them, immediately crossing the crowded bar to join them as they slowly made their way in. "Emma! I didn't think you'd make it. Are you sure you should…"

"I'm fine," she snapped, shrugging Killian off and leaning on Ruby instead. "Help me to the bar?"

Killian ground his teeth, but sent Red a pleading look over Emma's blonde head. Perhaps she could talk some sense into the woman – and keep her away from liquor. He'd had his fair share of poor choices along the way, but Emma had no business drinking with the handful of pills she'd taken before they left the apartment.

David and Robin had come out for Graham's funeral, mostly to support Killian, but they weren't the only cops in the bar. He nodded to some familiar faces as he made his way to his friends, anxiously glancing back to find Emma and Ruby had been swallowed up in the crowd.

He slumped down into the booth next to his partner, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I need a drink," he mumbled, half to himself.

David slid a glass across the table, sympathy in his eyes when Killian looked up in surprise to find rum waiting for him. "I knew you would be here eventually."

"How's Emma?" Robin asked from his side, taking a long sip from his own beer. "Bloody terrible business this whole thing."

"Emma is…" Killian trailed off, once again searching for her in the crowd and coming up short. He sighed, lifting his glass and taking a generous swallow. "She's as I'd expected. Blames herself." He hesitated, glancing at his friends, not certain how much he wished to reveal, but in the end, he needed to talk to someone. "It's hard to watch, mate. I haven't any idea what to say or do to help her. She nearly took my head off on the drive here."

David nodded, rubbing his thumb through the condensation on his glass. "You've been where she is. It's going to take time. Just keep doing what you're doing."

"It took me months to pull myself out of that misery. I don't want that for her."

"You may not get to make that decision, I'm afraid." Robin smiled sadly, settling back against the booth. His partner had known loss, too. "Has she been to see the head doctor yet? I imagine they'll require it of her before she gets her badge back."

"Not yet." Killian squeezed his eyes shut, gulping down the rest of the rum. He wouldn't have more than the one, and he should have taken his time with it, but he was exhausted. It was rough, being Emma's everything, including the things she didn't want him to be, _especially_ when it came to the things she didn't want him to be. He loved her and it was worth it – she was worth it – but it didn't mean it was easy. Nor was it easy to keep the words to himself – _I love you –_ but with Emma's unpredictable moods, it seemed to be for the best. It would be difficult enough to convince her he meant it on a good day.

Convincing her to go to the therapy appointments, to try to get something out of them, would be harder still.

Opening his eyes, he regarded his friends wearily. "May we discuss something else? How's the wife, Dave?"

His friend hesitated, but in the end, he gave in. Killian lost himself in the conversation, the easy camaraderie of men who'd known him for years now. He'd been so wrapped up in Emma, he hadn't had time to hear about David's lovely wife, or Robin's delightful son. And with Graham's death looming over all of them, it was a hearty reminder that life was short, and in their line of work, shorter still. He owed Belle a call back, too. Emma was important, perhaps the most important person in his life, but she wasn't the only one.

Yet when he realized they'd been at the bar for nearly an hour and Emma hadn't sought him out, he excused himself from the table and went in search of her. The place wasn't that big, but with the crush of people, it took some time to find her.

He didn't like what he found when he did.

Emma had been drinking. Her cheeks were red, and her eyes glassy. He swore as he approached, his temper flaring as he noticed Ruby at her side. Why had her friend allowed her to drink? Didn't she know mixing pain medication and alcohol was bloody foolish? Aye, Emma was grieving, and in pain, but that didn't mean let her do whatever bloody thing she wanted, especially when what she wanted was stupid.

The group was laughing as he approached, and as Ruby raised her glass in a toast, he cleanly slid Emma's drink into his own hand. "To Graham," he echoed, slipping his arm around her waist and downing the shot. He hated whiskey – hated the burnt, smoky taste of it – but he grinned anyway as he faced Emma. "Sorry, darling."

"I'll just order another." She rolled her eyes, lifting her hand toward the bartender. Killian stepped closer, brushing a kiss against her hair as a cover for his low whisper. "I believe you've had enough, love. Let's go home."

Home, where he would watch her drink several glasses of water and eat something of substance. Home, where he could tuck her into bed and ensure she didn't harm herself further with the self-destructive mood she was in.

Home, so that when everything she was trying so hard to outrun eventually caught up to her, he'd be there to hold her together when she shattered.

"You go home," Emma snapped back, her words running into each other. "I'm staying. If Graham were here, he'd stay."

"I think Killian is right." He'd forgotten Ruby was there, standing just on the other side of Emma. He gave her a hard look, glancing between the glasses and Emma with a silent question. Ruby shook her head, but didn't answer. "C'mon, Emma. I'll walk you guys out."

"I'm fine."

Killian was truly beginning to hate the word _fine_.

"You can walk out of here with Ruby's assistance, or I can carry you out. Your choice." Killian was done trying it the easy way. The longer he stood next to her, taking in her posture, her voice, the scent of whiskey wafting off of her, the less inclined he felt to spare her dignity in the moment. He wanted her safe. Not much else mattered.

Emma's glare cut him to the core, but she allowed Ruby to help her from her stool. Killian breathed out a sigh of relief, tossing enough cash on the bar to cover Emma's tab before following the two women. It was slow going, and with each step, Killian's frustrations rose.

Emma had no business being out of her apartment. He understood her need to attend the funeral, but he should have said no to the bar. He should have protected her from herself when she couldn't.

"Why the bloody hell did you let her drink all that whiskey?" he asked once Emma was safely in the car, his voice too low to be heard through the glass where he and Ruby remained on the sidewalk.

Ruby shrugged, her own features crumpling into deep sorrow. "I tried, Killian, but there are worse things than mixing painkillers with booze. She had two shots. I drank the rest. Give her plenty of water and get her home. She'll be fine."

"And you?" he couldn't help but ask, softening. He still wasn't happy about Emma's drinking, but witnessing Ruby's slumped shoulders and pale cheeks, it was obvious she was only hanging on by a thread herself. What little strength she had left had gone into putting on a brave face for Emma, and now that she'd done that, she looked near to collapsing herself.

"I'll be fine, too. Eventually." Ruby offered a watery smile, gesturing toward the car. "Get her home. I'll stop by tomorrow, all right?"

He nodded, watching her walk back into the bar on unsteady legs before getting into the car himself. Emma had reclined her seat, her eyes closed, but by the rigid set of her shoulders, he knew she was awake. Still, he let her be, hoping the drive would calm her down some before he tried to talk to her.

It was obvious she was holding onto something, some hidden piece of guilt she hadn't shared with him – and whatever it was, it was slowly destroying her. There had been a certain catharsis in finally voicing his guilt when it had been Milah – a certain weight had come off his shoulders just by saying the terrible truth of it out loud. It should have been him. It was his fault. It didn't matter if years later he knew none of that was true – in the moment, it had helped.

Emma didn't seem any better.

It was an awkward business getting her into the apartment, Emma once again acting as though she could barely stomach his touch. He swallowed it while they made their way through the halls and elevator, but once her door closed safely behind them, he was done treating her with kid gloves. It was time to rip off the band-aid.

"There's something you've held back, and I can see it eating you bit by bit," he said, gently lowering her to the couch. He immediately knelt before her, sliding the one shoe she wore off her foot and helping her lift her injured ankle to rest on the waiting pillow. But he didn't get up right away, catching her gaze and staying where he was. "Please, Emma. What is it?"

His stomach churned, his imagination coming to life with all the horrors Gold might have inflicted upon her. What wasn't she saying? She didn't want him to touch her today, but she'd been fine with Ruby. Was it a man's touch? Had Gold…

"I told you at the bar, I'm fine."

"Bloody hell, Emma, you are not fine!" His temper snapped, and he got to his feet, beginning to pace. "I grow bloody tired of the word. Not one soul has ever said they are fine and been remotely close to it!"

"What do you want me to say, Killian? That I got Graham killed? That it should have been me? We've already been over that. You didn't want to hear it." She paused, catching his eye again from across the room. Despair stared back at him, agony lashing through her gaze. "Do you want me to say I knew he was in love with me, that I never wanted to admit it to myself, but I knew? I _knew_. No one else wanted to go back after Gold the way I did. It was _me_ , Killian. You said so yourself. It was a terrible idea. But Graham went along with it, because he loved me, and he didn't want to disappoint me. And that got him killed." Between the liquor and her growing hysteria, the longer she went on, the more jumbled her words became, but Killian deciphered each painful word. Tears ran unchecked down Emma's cheeks, her breaths coming in racking gasps. His temper vanished as quickly as it had broken free, and Killian returned to her side, sinking down on the couch to take her into his arms.

"Don't touch me," she protested, shrinking away from him. "That's the worst part, don't you get that? Graham died because he was in love with me, and I was too stupid to realize that was the only reason he went along with it. And now, I'm here, playing house with you, taking you with me to his goddamn funeral, and he's dead, Killian. He's _dead_."

This time when he reached for her, she didn't push him away. He hadn't taken off his jacket yet, and with the various bits of metal attached to the dress uniform, he shifted subtly until Emma's cheek rested against his shirt instead. "Even if that is true," he began softly, running his fingers through her hair in a motion he knew she found soothing, "Take it from someone who cares deeply about you. If it were me, and I thought I might die, hell, even if I _knew_ I was going to die protecting you, I'd have gone anyway. Graham was a good man. Honor his sacrifice, but you cannot blame yourself for his death."

"Don't say that." She lifted herself back from him, wincing as the movement pulled on all her various hurts. "There's been so much death. Too much. Don't say that."

"Emma, I…"

"No!" she cut in, wiping furiously at her tears, as if she'd just noticed them. "No, Killian. Don't you sit there and talk to me about you dying when we buried Graham a few hours ago. Because that's worse – I think about how it could have been you, if your cover hadn't been blown, and something inside me breaks apart and starts screaming like it will never stop. And then I'm glad it was Graham, because if it were you…" She stopped, her sobs breaking through once more as her shoulders shook. "I'm a terrible person, but I…don't die, Killian. You can't die for me, because I won't survive without you."

He shook his head in silent protest, growing impatient with his jacket and tugging it off. Scooping Emma up from the couch, he cradled her close as he walked into her bedroom, gently setting her down on the bed. Toeing off his shoes, he quickly joined her, pulling her close as guilt and sorrow poured out of her. It didn't matter that they were both still fully dressed, that he really should make her drink several glasses of water – all that mattered was the woman in his arms, finally voicing the version of the truth she was so afraid of.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said softly, repeating it between gentle kisses against her forehead, her hair, her cheek. "You won't be rid of me that easily, darling."

Her fist tightened in his shirt, as though she needed reassurance he was there. Between the alcohol and the medication, it wasn't long before she'd cried herself into an exhausted sleep. Killian lay awake, watching the shadows lengthen in the gray afternoon light as he ran his fingers up and down Emma's back. "I love you," he said to her sleeping form, brushing his thumb along her tear-stained cheek. "I love you, and I'm going to prove it is nothing to be afraid of."

* * *

Note: I am not a doctor. My medical knowledge came from google and TV. I tried to research a bit more for this, but if I got it wrong, sorry!

Two more chapters and epilogue to go..


	16. Chapter 16

Emma glanced at the nameplate next to the door, eyeing it skeptically. "Seriously?" she asked the empty hallway, rolling her eyes. "This guy's name is Merlin?" With a sigh, she pushed the door open and told herself to suck it up. If she ever wanted to see fieldwork again, Merlin the magic shrink had to sign her paperwork and that's all there was to it.

It was slow going. She'd been lucky enough that the break had been clean and with her youth and health, she was on the faster end of healing, and the cast had come off her ankle just over two weeks after it had gone on. Now she was stuck with the boot, and though it made her life a little bit easier, unless she wanted to do a lot of hobbling, she still needed to use her crutches a considerable amount.

Emma hated them. She hated how uncomfortable they were, how difficult it was to move around her apartment, how slow they made her, how her wrist ached almost instantly – and she hated relying on Killian. It didn't matter that she was growing used to having him around. It still grated on her when he fussed and hovered. He was trying not to smother her, but it didn't change that he was just always there.

Despite the flood of guilt, she had been relieved when he went back to work. Three straight weeks of all Killian, all the time, had left her in a constant state of irritation, if not with him, then with herself. The man had told her he would die for her, and she wanted to scream at him to leave her alone when he offered to help her shower, knowing the cast would prove a challenge. And damn him, he did help her, all without expressing interest in her nakedness. The day the cast had been cut away and she'd been fitted for the boot had been a relief.

Of course, it all came back to the simple fact that he was willing to die for her. He loved her. He had to, to speak so fiercely of giving his life for hers. He hadn't said it, but she knew, and that just made her feel worse. Killian was a good man, he _loved_ her, and Emma? Emma was a giant mess.

The weeks had brought them closer, in some ways. Killian saw everything as he spent day and night with her, all of the ugliness, and he still stayed, still treated her with kindness she didn't deserve.

But with Emma's wounds, having sex had been out of the question. They still hadn't. Killian was too worried about her various injuries, and though they'd fooled around, the lack of sex only heightened the distance growing between them. She should have been relieved by it – blowjobs and Killian's tongue between her legs didn't carry quite the same emotional punch, and she should have been glad of it. Glad of a way to pull back, to save him from getting in too deep with her, to ever be in a position where he actually might make good on his promise and give up his life for hers.

She couldn't live with herself if he did.

"Emma Swan?"

Emma jerked herself out of her thoughts, realizing her name was being called. A man in a sweater and jeans stood in the doorway to the inner office, warm brown eyes and a friendly smile waiting for her. "I'm ready for you. Do you need a hand?"

"No," she snapped, grabbing her crutches and hauling herself out of the waiting room chair. "I'm fine. The magical Merlin I presume?"

He didn't laugh, gesturing to the airy inner office. "Would you like the couch or the chair?" he asked as though she had commented on the weather.

Emma didn't answer, moving to the chair and lowering herself into it. It took all of her self-control to keep her face serene, biting back against the various aches brought on by her movement. The couch would have been more comfortable, but she'd be damned before she'd show this man the slightest weakness. Weakness wouldn't get her back on the job, and she spent enough time on couches these days as it was. "All right, doc, go for it," she said once she was settled, smiling sweetly.

"Go for it?" he asked mildly, raising his brow at her. She expected a notepad, some sort of file with her life's details, but the only thing he held was a cup of coffee, long legs sprawled out from his spot on the couch. "What am I going for?"

"Whatever it is that gets you to sign the paperwork. What should we talk about? My childhood? My lack of parents? All the woes of a foster kid? You tell me." Emma's smile twisted into a smirk, the words dripping with sarcasm.

He had the nerve to laugh at her. "You're not the first agent to come in here with a chip on your shoulder. The sooner you accept the process, the easier this will go for you. I have all the time in the world. If you want to come in here every week and talk about the weather for an hour, or insult me, or recite the alphabet, you go right ahead. But I'm not signing anything that puts you back into the field with a gun in your hand, and a target on your back, until I'm convinced you've processed what's happened to you – not just shoved it into some dark corner of your mind where you think it will never see the light of day again. Because trust me, it will." He leveled a cool, evaluating look at her. "Understood?"

Emma grit her teeth, glaring at the boot on her foot, her ankle throbbing. Regina had said something frighteningly similar when Emma had argued about needing to go see the department shrink. She was still technically on medical leave, but Regina had calmly told her she'd be on desk duty once she returned until the good doctor cleared her.

She had left the office furious and taken it out on Killian. Saint that he was, he'd borne the brunt of her anger, the flash in his eyes the only sign of his own frustrations. He'd assumed the voice of reason and reminded her that she was never going to win against the bureaucratic might of the United States government, so just go see the bloody doctor and get it over with. She'd gone to bed with her back turned to him, curled around her anger like a security blanket, but in the morning, she'd been in his arms and he'd kissed her like she hadn't been the world's worst girlfriend the night before.

"Tell me about Killian Jones," Merlin said, leaning back and sipping his coffee, the picture of serenity, as though he wasn't lobbing grenades against every wall she'd built around herself. "We can start there. I understand you were released into his care from the hospital."

"Killian? What is there to say?" She shrugged, glancing around the room. A massive bookshelf took up one wall, all manner of books and knickknacks carefully arranged on the dark wood shelves. Degrees from a lofty British university were framed on the wall, explaining the hint of an accent not so different from Killian's.

Killian, Killian, Killian.

"You had a rather inauspicious start to your love story."

"Love story?" Emma rolled her eyes, struggling with the memory of that first meeting. They'd come so far, but it didn't change how humiliated she'd felt in the moment; the fact that while some days she could think of little else than stripping Killian naked and climbing on his lap, she'd still gone deep, deep inside herself to avoid being present as he'd touched her wearing the face of another man.

"What would you call it?"

"I…I don't know." Emma blew out a breath, her nails digging into her palms. Her wrist ached, but she ignored it, once again glaring at her booted ankle. It was better than the cast, but the stiff plastic bit into her skin and left her heel raw if she moved too much. The doctor had told her it was all right to loosen the straps if she was resting in one place with her leg up, but she'd been too stubborn to take a spot on the couch and she wasn't about to ask to change places.

"Do you love him?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" she snapped, swallowing hard against her roiling emotions. That was the million-dollar question, wasn't it? Did she love Killian? She'd spent a lot of time thinking about it trapped in Gold's basement, and even more time thinking of it while she'd lain awake in his arms these last few weeks. She'd even had the same reoccurring dream – Killian told her he loved her, and she just stood there, silent and unable to speak. The words were always just out of reach, leaving her struggling as he crumbled to dust in front of her.

Even her subconscious refused to commit to the idea.

"You tell me."

"I'm _telling_ you he doesn't have anything to do with it!" Emma all but shouted, her frustrations getting the better of her. Whether she loved Killian or not had absolutely nothing to do with her going back into the field; her personal life was personal.

And it was a mess she didn't feel like untangling with a perfect stranger, no matter how many degrees hung on his wall.

Merlin didn't speak again right away, watching her with quiet concentration, as though he could see straight through her and pluck any thought he wished from her head. "Were Killian and Graham friends?" he finally asked, no hint of his thoughts betrayed in his voice.

Pain slammed into Emma so hard it seemed her very teeth rattled. "I guess," she choked out, swallowing back the rising tide of memories. Graham had loved her and ended up dead. Killian probably loved her and was willing to die for it. What was it about her that kept the grim reaper one step behind her heart?

"How did you feel about that?"

"What the hell sort of question is that? Graham is dead. It doesn't matter if he was friends with Killian." Emma glared at the man, her cheeks hot with anger and suppressed emotion. "What is it with you people? This has nothing to do with me going back to work."

"You worked with Graham for a long time. Was he protective of you?" Merlin asked as if she hadn't spoken at all, all soft patience and quiet words. She wanted to throw something at him, one of her crutches, a book from his shelves, his damned degrees, anything to wipe that damn understanding off his face.

"He _died_ because of me. You already know that, so I don't know what you're trying to stir up by asking me that." Emma swore as her voice caught, the tears that seemed to perpetually hover at the edge of her consciousness threatening to spill over.

"It was simply a question."

"No, it wasn't. Nothing in a place like this is _simply a question_. Just tell me what you want to know. I'll tell you, you'll sign the form, and I'll get the hell out of here." Desperation leaked out, panic beginning to claw at her throat. She'd known these visits wouldn't be pleasant, but she'd expected to have to talk about Gold – not about Killian and what she did or didn't feel for him.

"Do you love Killian?"

Emma left without another word, her crutches hampering her exit far more than she'd have liked – getting out of the chair on her own was hard enough, never mind attempting to storm out on crutches with a throbbing wrist. Her cheeks burned with fury and humiliation as Merlin watched her go, silent, not offering help.

She was relieved when Killian was late coming home, relieved he wasn't there to see her red-rimmed eyes when she lurched through the door – relieved he didn't question her feigned sleep or stiff shoulders when he came into the bedroom to check on her.

But after he'd showered and pulled on the soft, thin pants he'd taken to sleeping in, he crawled into bed and folded his arms around her. "Bad day, love?" he murmured against her shoulder, soft and low but without a doubt that she could hear him.

"I'm fine."

He leaned his forehead against her shoulder, his weary sigh a warm puff of air on her skin against the cool damp of his hair. "Emma, the harder you fight, the longer this goes on. I've been where you are. I…."

"I don't want to hear about Milah tonight," she snapped, tightening her shoulders until her whole body curled in on itself. "I'm not you, Killian. I didn't lose someone I loved in an accident. Gold murdered Graham just because he could, and then he kept me in a fucking basement for three days. It is _not_ the same."

The mattress dipped as he rolled onto his back, and the inches between them might have been miles in the tense silence that coated the room. An apology settled on the tip of her tongue, but Emma couldn't form the words, couldn't find the way back to him, and the gulf widened.

Her conversation with Merlin had rattled her far too much. Did she love Killian? Was this what love was, him pushing and pushing, putting up with her terrible moods and awful behavior? Was being in love the same as being willing to die for someone? And if she was in love with him, and if she admitted it, if she told him she loved him, what power did that give him over her? Could he hurt her any more than he already could now, woven through her life as he was? And if she said it, if she put the syllables together and formed the words, did that give him some sort of permission to make good on his promise and give his life for hers? Because that was far too much responsibility, and she didn't want it.

Sleep was a long time coming, and when she woke, it was to Killian's concern piercing the darkness, hovering over her as she struggled to catch her breath. "You were screaming my name," he told her, his own voice raspy. "I'm right here, love."

"I know." She rolled toward him, the ever-present ache in her ribs sharpening until she adjusted her weight, breathing in as deeply as she could until Killian's scent surrounded her. He didn't ask about her dream, and she didn't offer up the details. He was a smart man. He had to be able to figure out on his own she'd dreamt of losing him. But like so many other things, she couldn't seem to find the words.

-x-

It was a week later when Emma woke from a very different sort of dream, her pulse throbbing between her legs and breasts aching. Killian was still asleep, his chest pressed to her back, arm slung around her waist. Sometime in the night his hand had crept beneath her tank top, his palm resting flat against her ribs. If he were to stretch his fingers even just a little bit, his touch would be far from innocent.

Still lost in the haze of the dream, Emma arched back against him, desire rushing through her as his arousal pressed into her backside. Killian shifted, his grip tightening on her as she sucked in a breath. A month later, her ribs were still tender, and would be for some time, but she didn't want to push him away. She craved his touch desperately, needed more than the few lapses in his monumental control.

"Mmm…" Killian murmured behind her, pressing closer. His lips nuzzled the delicate spot where her neck met her shoulder, his callused skin dragging across hers to cup her breast. Emma's breath caught, her eyes sliding shut with a groan as he rubbed his thumb across her nipple. He had to be awake to touch her so intentionally, and if she wasn't so desperate for release, she might have sighed at the pleasure of it.

Then Killian cursed.

Not in the way she loved, when he was falling over the edge, his control shredded, utterly undone and unable to do more than bite out four letter words – no, his curse was frustration and a hint of the simmering anger they both lived with in the aftermath of Emma's kidnapping, his body jerking away from hers.

"Apologies, love." He rolled onto his back, his breathing harsh and his voice ragged.

"Why the hell are you apologizing?" It took longer than she would have liked to get herself onto her side, wincing as she moved. Why did it take so damned long for ribs to heal? "Why did you stop?"

"The doctor said six weeks."

"Yeah, for my ribs to heal, not until you could touch me again," she snapped with frustration.

He raised an eyebrow, a smile playing on the edge of his lips that failed to carry his usual teasing humor. "If I recall, I touched you just last night. Perhaps you've forgotten?"

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

His attempt at a smile dropped, his hands rising to scrub over his face as he let out a weary sigh. "Another two weeks, love."

"No one says you have to fuck me like a drunk frat boy. We can be careful." She reached for him, her hand landing on his stomach. Inching closer, she swept her hand down. "Killian, please."

He hissed at the sudden contact, snatching at her wrist with a low groan before she could do more than press her palm against his rigid length. "I promise you, love, when you are healed, you may have me any way you wish. Until then…" He started to nudge her back, and Emma knew what came next. He would kiss her and he would touch her, and it would end with his mouth or fingers between her legs. And it would be good – Killian still knew what he was about – but it wasn't what she wanted.

She wanted him inside her, wanted to wrap her body around his and move with him – she wanted to watch him fall apart beneath her, wanted him to dig his fingers into her hips and hold her right _there_ , wanted him to bring her right to the edge with his tongue and then send her over buried deep.

She didn't want him to just get her off to shut her up.

"Don't bother," she snapped, pushing him away. He wrenched himself back as if she'd slapped him, but Emma was too lost in her own hurt to care. "It's going to take me three years to take a shower, and get dressed, and get the damn boot back on anyway, and I have to leave in an hour."

"Emma, don't–"

"No, you don't. Don't make excuses for why you don't want to fuck me. I don't want to hear it, Killian."

"Is that what you think? That I don't want to?" His eyes darkened, his temper bleeding into the words. "Are you out of your bloody mind?"

"Just forget it."

"Not until you–"

"Don't touch me." She snatched her hand back when he tried to take it, her temper spiraling irrationally. He looked like he wanted to protest, and for a moment, she sat on the edge of the mattress, her breaths coming quickly, glaring at him in challenge. "Right," she finally said when all he did was stare back at her, his face a mess of indecision. "That's what I thought."

Killian drove her to Merlin's office in silence, his uncharacteristic decision to leave her be only fueling her temper. Where was the man who had pushed her back against a wall and had his way with her? Where was the man who had barely made it in the door some nights before he had to have her? She missed that version of him, the man who had wanted her so viscerally he couldn't keep his hands off her even in public, teasing her beneath tables and bar tops. There had been a time they hadn't even made it back to her apartment and had fucked in the bathroom of the Midnight Ride, desperate for each other.

And now he didn't want her. Sex was the one thing that was easy between them, that didn't require emotional gymnastics, and now it was gone.

"Emma–"

"Don't." She bit the word off for what felt like the hundredth time, shoving open the car door and reaching into the back for her crutches. If he got out of the car and tried to help her, she would hit him with one. "Just don't."

He nodded stiffly, his hands clenching on the steering wheel, but he didn't say anything else, and Emma didn't look back as she made her slow, painful way into the building. By the time she got to Merlin's door, she was livid, her irritation with Killian and her complete and utter hatred of being an invalid whipped together into a burning rage.

"Hello, Emma," Merlin said in greeting, perfectly calm in spite of her obvious temper and the fact that she'd walked out of his office without a word mid-session the previous week. "C'mon in. How are you feeling today?"

"How do you think?" she all but snarled, so frustrated she was ready to throw one of her crutches through the window, just for the satisfaction of hearing the glass shatter. Except as soon as the thought entered her mind, she shuddered – the last time she'd heard glass shatter, it had been in a spray of bullets, Graham crumpling beside her.

"I think you're obviously upset about something."

"How perceptive." Emma rolled her eyes, folding her arms and then unfolding them as the position put pressure on her ribs. "Fine, you want to talk about Killian, let's talk about Killian. You're a man. Explain to me how I get him to fuck me again. Because I've tried, and apparently there's something wrong with me, or with him, because he wants no part of it. Well. That's not true. Some part of him wants a part of it. That works fine. Or maybe it doesn't? That's a morning thing, right? You just wake up like that?"

Merlin arched a brow at her, but to his credit, he didn't laugh. "You're upset because Killian won't have sex with you."

"No! I mean, yes, I am. What the hell? It shouldn't be so difficult to get the guy who sleeps in my bed every night to screw me."

"You had a number of injuries when you were recovered, correct? Broken ribs among them?" he asked, his tone mild but otherwise unreadable.

"Yes, but…"

"If I recall from my med school days, broken ribs take at least six weeks to heal properly."

"Yeah, but…"

"So what you're saying is that your boyfriend won't have sex with you while your ribs are still healing, along with the rest of you." A pointed lift of his brow left Emma sputtering, her temper reigniting instantly.

"I'm not made of glass! Like I told him this morning, he doesn't have to fuck me like a drunken frat boy or on the kitchen table or anything. He's capable of keeping things slow enough I should be fine. We've done it that way plenty of times before," she added defensively, as though she somehow owed the shrink an explanation of her sex life.

"Did you call it _fucking_ when you did?" Merlin asked with the same maddening calm he asked all his questions.

"What?"

"You keep saying you want him to _fuck_ you or _screw_ you."

"Seriously? What do you want me to say, that I want him to make love to me?" Emma rolled her eyes, swallowing the urge to scream. _This_ was a requirement to get her job back? Debating the semantics of sex with a man she'd met once before?

"Have you had any sexual contact since your ordeal?" Merlin asked, once again moving on without acknowledging her outburst. She suspected he did it on purpose, much like ignoring a whiney toddler. Was that what she was acting like? A child?

"Well, yeah, but it's not…" Emma shrugged, embarrassment starting to creep into her cheeks as she ran out of steam. "You know what I mean."

"Have you orgasmed?"

"What does that have to do with anything? What does any of this have to do with anything?" Emma groaned, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. "This is absurd. If I were a man would you ask me that?"

"Yes."

"Seriously?"

"Sex is a normal, healthy component of a relationship. Is Killian still able to bring you to completion?" He continued on with his questions, no hint of his opinion on his face. Once again, he had no notes, no tablet, nothing more than a steaming mug of coffee next to him.

"Yes, but it's not the same," she finally answered when it became clear he would wait in silence as long as needed for her answer.

"How?"

"Really, you're asking me how it's not the same? It's just not. Even shrinks must get blowjobs."

"Do you reciprocate?"

"When he lets me! It's complicated, considering how broken I am. I can't…why are you asking me this?"

"It seems that in spite of your injuries, and the lack of intercourse, you've still had sexual contact, including orgasms for both parties. What about that is unsatisfying? Your body is healing and you're still finding pleasure in each other." Merlin shrugged, reaching for his coffee and curling his fingers around the mug. "I'm not sure what you're so upset about."

"But it's. Not. The. Same! I can't believe I have to explain this to you. Aren't you a doctor, technically? Isn't that what the fancy degree on the wall says?"

"Try," he said simply, setting the mug back down.

Emma huffed, wincing at the stabbing pain in her side that came with the motion. "It's just _not_. I don't know what it is, exactly, but when he…" She gestured vaguely to her crotch, her embarrassment only growing. "It's good, but it just…lacks. I don't know how else to explain it."

"Physically?"

"I guess?"

Merlin was silent, regarding her with a look of evaluation. "Could it be," he finally began, his voice quiet, "that what you're missing isn't physical at all?"

"I told you I want my boyfriend to fuck me, and you think it's not physical?"

"I think when two people have an emotional connection, sex isn't just about the physical aspect. Last time you were here, I asked you if you loved Killian. You don't have to answer me, but I want you to think about that question, and the one you asked me today. Perhaps the problem is that Killian has no interest in _fucking_ you because it's not just about that for him?" He paused, letting his words sink in, and Emma shifted uncomfortably at the direction the conversation was headed. She didn't want to talk anymore about whether or not she loved Killian – she'd spent enough time thinking about that since storming out of Merlin's office the week before, and had already come to an unsettling conclusion regarding just how far Killian had wormed his way into her heart. "Perhaps it's not a problem at all. Perhaps he loves you – and you love him – and what you're missing isn't sex at all. It's intimacy."

"Intimacy?" Emma scoffed, but her anger had gone hollow, a deep, yawning emptiness opening up inside her. "What, are we about to be on an after school special?"

"Have you attempted to talk to him about this?"

"I told you, this morning I tried to." Emma ground her teeth together, fighting the urge to scream at him. Wasn't therapy supposed to solve her problems, not wind her into an even bigger emotional mess? Who the hell thought it was a good idea?

"You came through that door in a fit of temper. Did you attempt to have a conversation with Killian, or did you put up a wall of anger the moment he resisted your advances?"

"I…" Emma stared down at her hands, her embarrassment twisting into an acute stab of shame. "I…don't know."

 _Is that what you think? That I don't want to? Are you out of your bloody mind?_

"You've been through a terrible ordeal, Emma. No one will deny that. You need to give your body time to heal, and Killian knows that. You're a beautiful woman and he cares for you, but part of caring for someone is not being selfish. In the time you've sat across from me, I've seen you wince a dozen times when you breathed too deeply or moved the wrong way, never mind your decision to sit in that chair when you would no doubt be more comfortable on the couch. This is our second session, and yet in the first five minutes last week, I already knew you were determined to avoid even the slightest appearance of weakness, damn the consequences to your health.

"Do you think Killian, who sleeps in your bed every night, hasn't noticed? Do you think after everything you've been through, he isn't watching you every moment he possibly can? He's noticed. And it would kill him to add to your pain." The doctor's voice was gentler, the prodding, cool questions replaced with warm concern. Emma suddenly had the unsettling sensation he'd worked her as she'd work a suspect, leading her along a careful trail of breadcrumbs to this exact point.

"How do you know so much about Killian? You've never met him," she pointed out, ignoring the man's quiet certainty behind his assessment, and the answering throb in her ankle. It wasn't the first time her stubbornness and pride had gotten the better of her – it wouldn't be the last.

"Just because I'm the department shrink doesn't mean I don't occasionally grab a drink at the FBI watering hole."

"You've seen us together," Emma said flatly, cursing herself for ever being out with Killian in full view of the department. It hadn't seemed like a big deal once he'd gone back to his district, but maybe she had been wrong.

"Yes."

"I see."

"I think you just might," Merlin replied cryptically. "Talk to him, Emma. He likely misses the same things you do."

Emma swallowed hard, nodding at the man's words but already lost in her own thoughts. She hated to admit it, but she owed Killian an apology, at the very least. She didn't like the distance between them, and if she was honest with herself, Killian was probably trying to stay out of her way – not that he had to like it, either.

She only had to look to her behavior hours earlier to find a reason for him not to push too hard.

Killian had gone to work after dropping her off at her appointment, so she took a cab home. Left to her own devices for the day, her conversation with Merlin hovered in the background of every step she took, every show she watched. Their conversation on a loop, and having long exhausted the interesting options on Netflix, Emma was left no choice but to confront her feelings.

 _What you're missing isn't sex at all. It's intimacy._

Merlin was right, of course. Emma hadn't had the words to put to the thing she wanted, hadn't known what to call the feeling she craved, but despite her sarcastic response, intimacy was exactly what she wanted. It was more than the physical pleasure of Killian's body – it was the warmth of his breath, the weight of him, the goddamn way he looked at her when he was inside her, like she was precious and worthy of his love.

And he did love her. She'd suspected it the night he'd followed her, the night his temper had exploded before turning into something else completely, but she hadn't wanted to admit it, not even when Ruby had said it a month later. Hell, she didn't really want to admit it to herself now, either. She knew as well as anyone that love was a deadlier weapon than any gun – look where it had gotten Graham.

But it didn't change that for the first time in weeks, she wished Killian was there.

"Hi," she said softly when he finally came home, exhaustion etched into his features. With a jolt of guilt, Emma realized a good portion of that probably had more to do with his lack of sleep because of her than his job.

"It's quite late." He raised a brow at her as he started to shrug off his jacket, rubbing a weary palm over his face. "I thought you'd be in bed by now."

"I was waiting for you," she admitted, leaning her head back against the couch cushions. Was it her imagination, or was there a bite in his words, an underlying sentiment that he _wished_ to find her asleep after their morning. Curling her fingers around the pillow in her lap, Emma sighed. "Can we talk?"

He chuckled, shoving his hand through his hair and eying her warily. "I've found when a woman says that, I'm rarely in for pleasant conversation."

"I owe you an apology," she said, ignoring his attempt at a joke. Things had been swept under the rug between them too many times already, and that had largely been on her. She had much more to say than _I'm sorry_ but it seemed a good place to start. "This morning…I was out of line."

Killian hung up his jacket in the closet before sitting down on the coffee table facing her, his knees bracketing hers as he grew serious. "I realize this isn't easy, love, but you must believe me when I say I want you now as badly as I ever have. I'll prove it to you – once you've healed."

"I know."

"Do you?"

She nodded, blinking back the sting of tears. "I…it's not all just that…" She stopped, watching his hands cover hers, the fine dark hairs along the back of his fingers stark against her pale skin. "I miss you," she finally whispered, losing the battle against the tears spilling down her cheeks. "There's this distance between us, and I just…I miss you. This morning, when I…I miss your skin on mine. I miss feeling like I don't know where you start and I end."

He leaned forward, careful not to jostle her as he brought his lips to hers in a kiss that started sweet but quickly turned needy. Killian pulled away first, moving to sit beside her on the couch. His palms framed her cheeks as he leaned his forehead against hers, his breath warm on her skin. "I love you," he finally said, a tremor in his voice. "I've loved you for some time now, and I'm not going to stop. We will get through this, I promise you."

His lips came down on hers again, one kiss after another until she was sprawled beside him on the couch, pressed together and kissing like teenagers. There was something sweet about it, kisses that would go no further, and when they broke apart to breathe, Emma nuzzled into the crook of his neck, breathing as deeply as she could.

 _I love you, too._

Emma opened her mouth to say it, but panic quickly choked back the words. Her conversation with Merlin had been eye-opening in more ways than she wanted to admit, and with an entire afternoon to think about it, she'd realized what the man had been pushing her toward – she did love Killian. She probably had for a long time. But loving Killian meant opening herself up to an entirely new level of hurt, and perhaps it was naïve to think so, but somehow, if Emma didn't give voice to the words, they didn't seem to have quite so much power.

"I can't lose you," she said instead, squeezing her eyes shut against the surge of emotion, praying Killian would understand. "You sat here with me a few weeks ago and told me you'd _die_ for me, and…"

"I'm not going anywhere, love," he said gently, not a hint of reproach in his voice. His arms tightened ever so slightly around her, careful as always of her injuries. His lips brushed against her hair, her cheek, her temple. "I'm right here."

"But you _said_ that you would die, and we had just left Graham's damned funeral, and…" Emma hadn't realized she'd started crying again until Killian was cradling her jaw, brushing her tears away one by one with the pad of his thumb. "Graham loved me, and he died, and you can't die, Killian. You _can't_."

"You won't be rid of me that easily. I told you, I'm a survivor."

"This isn't a joke, Killian. I mean it."

"I wasn't under the impression it was anything but serious. You're it for me, and I intend to spend many, many years at your side."

"Okay," she breathed out, her emotions raw. She should tell him now, should put voice to the words burning on the tip of her tongue, but even his vow didn't settle her heart. She was too exposed already. His confession would have to be enough for them both tonight.

"Thank you for your permission, Swan," he said mildly after a moment, chuckling as he pushed her hair out of her eyes. "I do appreciate it."

"That isn't what I…" She glared at him, ignoring the twitch at the corner of her mouth that begged her to smile. How like Killian, to know exactly when to lighten the conversation, to know exactly when she was about to crumble under the emotional strain. "I hate you."

"You most certainly do not." An undercurrent ran through the words, despite his smile, and when he kissed her, Emma knew. Killian got it. She didn't have to say it, didn't have to drag the words out of that broken, terrified corner of her heart. He knew how she felt, and he didn't begrudge her the time she needed to find the courage to say so.

"No, I guess not." The smile won, and it warmed something long cold inside her to see her happiness reflected back in his eyes. "Are you hungry? Do you want dinner before we go to bed?"

"No, we ordered takeout at the district. Did you eat?"

"Yeah, I made a sandwich earlier."

"Swan, how many times must I tell you that grilled cheese is not…"

"Turkey and tomato and cheese. And I ate some of the strawberries you cut up yesterday," she added, nudging him with her elbow. "I bet my dinner was way healthier than yours, so don't start," she said with a laugh at his chagrined expression. Killian's insistence on _proper, healthy meals to help you recover, Swan_ made her nuts most days, but in her current mood, his insistence on caring for her was welcome.

He kissed her one more time, a slow, lingering kiss, before scooping her up from the couch and heading for the bedroom. Emma didn't argue with him, didn't even mind his fussing as he laid her down. "I'll just have a quick shower before I join you." He bent to press one more kiss to her forehead before turning away, the sound of running water following him before long.

Emma sighed, listening to the creak of the pipes and the rush of water. She should get changed for bed while Killian showered, but as she sat up, she hesitated, glancing back toward the bathroom. Sex was still out of the question, but hadn't she just told Killian it wasn't exactly sex she missed?

Decision made, she underwent the laborious process of getting undressed, leaving her clothes in a heap on the floor next to her side of the bed before crawling back under the blankets. It was a relief to undo the straps of the boot, gently flexing her foot as the doctor had told her to and gingerly settling back as the boot fell to the floor with a thump. It would be a good day when she finally got the all clear to not wear the damn thing at all anymore.

Killian wasn't long, reappearing with a towel wrapped around his waist and water trickling down his neck. The sight was as tempting as always, the urge to drag her tongue down his chest and follow the droplet of water strong, but she swallowed against it. "Come to bed," she said quietly, patting the mattress next to her. "Don't bother with the pants tonight."

He turned slowly, taking in her bare shoulders and the pile of clothing next to the bed. "I'm not certain that's entirely wise."

"I just…" Emma sighed, wishing she could hop out of bed and nudge him along. "I told you, I miss you. I know we can't really do anything, but I…please?"

"All right," he agreed after a slight hesitation, turning back to the drawer they'd cleared out for him. "But I'm at least putting these on." Holding up a dark gray pair of his underwear, he grinned at her, his old humor shining through. "I fear my control only extends so far, love."

"Well, put them on already and get over here," she grumbled, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks as Killian laughed. He slipped beneath the sheets a moment later, his skin still warm from the shower.

"Better?" he asked quietly, his voice thick as he settled back into the pillows with Emma curled into his side.

"Mmm." She turned her cheek, kissing the soft patch of skin below his collarbone before snuggling closer. "Thank you."

"All you had to do was ask," he said, the slightest reproach in the words. "I know…I know this isn't easy for you, being out of work, having to go see the head doc…depending on me. But I'm here, Emma. I'm right here, and I love you. You just have to let me." His hand brushed over her back, his fingers tangling in her hair before dragging down her spine.

"I'm trying."

"That's all I ask."

"I know." Emma yawned, stretching her arm across his chest and resting her leg over his. It wasn't exactly what she wanted – he was wearing his damn underwear, and desire simmered away just under the surface, begging for satisfaction she wouldn't get, but it was better.

Sleep came for her before long, the scent of Killian's soap and skin wrapped around her as snugly as the quilt – and when the nightmares came for her, Killian was still there, solid and warm.

And not going anywhere.


	17. Chapter 17

Emma hesitated as she stepped into Merlin's office, eyeing the chair and the couch. As always, he was waiting for her to make her decision before sitting, though by the tiny smile tugging at his lips, he knew why she was lingering in the doorway.

She was grouchy and tired. Killian had the day off, and rather than lounge in bed when they'd both been woken early by the pounding rain on the windows, he'd coaxed her into physical therapy exercises that left her leg throbbing. The man was almost as stubborn as she was when he set his mind to something, and currently, that something was ensuring she made a full recovery. If he asked her one more time if she _wanted to get well, darling_ , with that damn eyebrow of his, she was going to shoot him with his own gun.

Of course, her sore leg also meant she was using the damn crutches she'd started to be able to go without for short distances, and the frustration of that alone was bad enough without the throbbing in her ankle.

"Don't make it a thing," she muttered, glaring at the doctor and taking a seat on the couch. She swallowed a sigh of relief as she settled her legs on the cushions, reaching to loosen the straps of the boot.

"I wouldn't dream of it." He slid into the chair, setting his coffee cup down on the table beside it. "How are you feeling today?"

"Fine." She rolled her eyes at his raised brow, gesturing to her leg as she recalled how irritated Killian got by that particular word. "Sore," she amended, rolling her ankle slightly within the loosened boot.

"I assume you've started physical therapy?"

"Yeah. Three times a week. Plus whatever Killian makes me do at home." She scowled down at her leg. "He was in the military, if you didn't already read that in some file or another. I think he forgets sometimes he doesn't get to give me orders."

"But things are better between you?"

Emma flushed, keeping her eyes resolutely on the couch and her legs, refusing to turn toward the doctor. "Yeah," she mumbled, twisting her fingers together. "Better."

Things _were_ better, and in no small part because of the conversation she'd had in Merlin's office a week ago. Killian admitting he loved her had soothed something she hadn't realized was broken, and though she hadn't found the courage yet to say it back, he seemed to know anyway. He touched her more, held her a little tighter every day, and while sex was still off the table, Emma didn't feel quite as empty since their conversation. Sleeping skin to skin had taken the edge off the distance – though it had only sharpened her physical desires.

 _One more week_ , she reminded herself, taking a deep breath to test the pull on her ribs. Killian was holding fast to the six-week timeframe the doctor had given her, and that six weeks was nearly up. She'd still have to be careful, especially with her ankle, but there were plenty of ways to deal with that.

She may or may not have spent some time considering them.

"How are your nightmares?"

Merlin's question jerked her out of her thoughts, and Emma turned to look at him sharply. "Nightmares?" she asked blandly, as though her heart wasn't racing at the mere mention of her nightly terrors.

He picked up his coffee mug and took a long sip. "Yes, Emma," he said as he set it back down. "Nightmares."

"I don't…" Emma blew out a breath, shaking her head. The instinct to hold onto her secrets and insecurities was strong, but she couldn't deny that her life had improved since their conversation a week ago. She still couldn't talk to Killian about the dreams, couldn't find the words to explain how her guilt and fear and love for him all tangled together in such a twisted reality. Her usual coping method was to shove everything into a lead box in a corner of her mind, never to be seen again, but either the box was full, or it just plain wasn't working anymore. Maybe it was time to try something new.

"The same," she finally admitted, eyes once again on anything but the doctor's face. She wasn't used to sharing her secrets, not with Killian, not with a shrink. "They've been the same."

"The same, as in recurring?"

She shrugged, picking at a piece of lint on her pants. "Some of them."

"About Gold?"

Emma nodded, wincing at the flood of memories, some real, some twisted out of her subconscious. The man was dead, but sometimes she swore she could still feel the stickiness of his blood on her hands, smell the acrid, burnt metal of the fired gun.

"You were the one who shot him, yes?"

"Yes."

"Have you talked to anyone about your time as a captive?"

"Sort of."

"How do you feel about Gold being dead?"

"What sort of stupid question is that?" Emma snapped, her temper getting the better of her at the abrupt shift in questioning. "I'm glad the bastard is dead. I wish I could kill him ten times over."

"He was your first shoot."

"So?"

"So taking a human life, even one as despicable as Gold's, has consequences. It's normal if you feel guilt or regret, Emma. Your nightmares may very well be manifestations of those emotions, and they will continue to be until you process how you really feel, not just what you think you're supposed to feel."

"He deserved to die."

"I don't disagree with you."

"You sound like you do."

"I'm not here to judge you. I understand it was already ruled a good shoot."

"Yes."

"All right, then. So logically, we both accept that what you did was the right choice. You needed to stay alive, and in that moment, shooting him was how you did it."

"Yes."

"So you have no nightmares in which you start by killing Gold, but then realize you've shot someone else? Graham? Or perhaps Killian?"

"How did you…" Emma was so stunned she didn't have time to hide her disbelief as all the blood drained from her face. "You can't know that," she managed to say, her hands beginning to shake.

"It's rather common in cases like yours," he said gently. "Logic says you did what you had to do, and from what I know of you, you want very much to not dwell on how you feel about the past. The past is painful, so best to move beyond it. But when your nightmares are more than just a memory, it usually points to something else."

Emma hesitated, her eyes drawn to the rain still streaking down the windows. She hadn't admitted it to anyone, hadn't wanted to give voice to the terrible thought – she _did_ feel guilty about killing Gold sometimes. She was an FBI agent, not judge, jury, and executioner. Gold had deserved to die, but had she had the right to make that decision? Had her motivations in that moment been about revenge and anger more than getting herself free? Did she have to kill him to get out of that basement, or had she _wanted_ to? And if she wanted to, did that make her any better than the monsters she worked so hard to get off the street?

"Being conflicted doesn't mean you were wrong. It means you're human."

"But I shouldn't be conflicted," Emma blurted out, the nagging doubts she'd been trying so desperately to ignore finally bursting at the seams. "He killed Graham. He killed so many people, and even the ones he didn't kill…" A familiar burn of humiliation crept through her veins, the months she'd spent undercover in his clutches never far from her thoughts these days. "He deserved to die."

"He did. But those reasons you just listed, that isn't why you shot him. You shot him because your life was in immediate danger and you fought for your freedom, as you've been trained to. As you should have. It will take time, but you need to find a way to accept that, Emma. If you second-guess yourself when you reach for your weapon, you will get yourself killed, or maybe someone else."

Emma nodded, blinking furiously against the tears inexplicably stinging her eyes. By the time she left Merlin's office, her head ached with the strain of her thoughts and their constant spiral. As much as she hated the sessions, she couldn't help but acknowledge that maybe Regina had been right – maybe she did need someone else to riffle through her mind to make sure she was truly fit to return to duty.

After all, she didn't always make the best choices when her emotions were up. She'd gone off on her own once already, convinced she was doing the right thing, and if Killian hadn't been there…well, she didn't want to think about what might have happened.

"All right, love?" Killian asked as she slowly lowered herself into the passenger seat, careful not to crush the groceries in the back with her crutches. Thankfully the rain had slowed to a steady drizzle, though she suspected he would have held an umbrella above her if it hadn't.

"Yeah." She sighed, leaning back into the seat and closing her eyes. All she wanted was to get home, put her leg up, and take off the damned boot. With Killian at her side.

But once she was settled on the couch, her thoughts still wouldn't quiet. She fidgeted as Killian put away the groceries, flipping through the channels before turning the TV off with a huff. Gingerly rolling her ankle, she leaned back into the cushions and closed her eyes. Maybe a nap would help. The rain had started up again in earnest, the steady hiss of it outside the open windows soothing.

"You'd be more comfortable in bed if you wish to sleep," Killian said softly when he came back into the living room a few minutes later, a glass of water in his hand along with the bottle of over the counter painkillers. "Would you like me to join you for a bit?"

Ignoring the twinge of desire his innocent offer brought on, Emma shook her head, taking the pills. She had stopped taking prescription strength medication as soon as she could stomach it, but especially on mornings like that, she wasn't ready yet to go entirely without. "No. If I sleep now, I won't sleep tonight. Sit with me?"

"Of course."

Emma sighed happily once they'd resettled themselves, her legs in Killian's lap and her back propped up with plenty of pillows against the sturdy arm of the couch. "That feels good," she mumbled as he lightly kneaded the sore muscles in her calves, careful not to press too hard anywhere near her ankle. Just having the boot off, discarded on the floor next to the couch, was nice, but Killian's light massages were good enough that she had to bite back a groan of pleasure.

"Are you sure you're all right, Swan?" he asked after a few moments of companionable silence, his thumb digging into the arch of her foot. "You seemed rather distressed when you got in the car earlier."

"I'm fi…" She stopped, swallowing her automatic answer. How many times had she told Killian she was fine over the last five weeks? And every time she did, the muscle in his jaw twitched, and his eyes grew stormy, because he knew damn well she wasn't fine. "We talked about Gold today," she said eventually, watching Killian's hands skim over her skin rather than look him in the eye, coward that she was.

Killian's touch faltered, but he didn't stop kneading her sore muscles. "Oh?" he asked when she didn't offer more, the word strained.

Emma lifted her eyes as he spoke, tracing the tension in his body, the tight line of his shoulders and the hard line of his lips. Gold wasn't a good subject for either of them. She wasn't the only one with nightmares. "I shot him."

"Aye."

"Did you…you must have…killed people, when you were overseas?"

His hands stilled, an unreadable expression settling over him. "Aye," he said slowly, rubbing at a scar along his palm. "It was war. Many people died. Senseless deaths, the lot of them. On both sides."

"Do you…did you feel guilty? Even when they were trying to kill you first?" she whispered, hating how vulnerable she sounded, but unable to stop. If she could talk to Merlin about Gold, she should be able to talk to Killian. He loved her. She loved him, even if she couldn't bring herself to say so. If there was anyone to trust with her secrets, it was Killian.

"Guilty isn't precisely the word for it, but aye, they've stayed with me." He sighed, tracing an idle pattern across her leg. "You feel guilty about Gold."

"Yeah." She took a deep, steadying breath, her ribs thankfully not protesting. "My nightmares, I…I shoot him, but then I blink, and it's Graham. Or it's you," she confessed, reaching for his hand and lacing their fingers together. Despite her legs on his lap and his touch on her skin, she needed a more tangible connection, a firmer hold to prove to herself Killian was right there.

"You've never spoken of your nightmares before." His thumb brushed against her palm in a familiar, soothing sweep, but beneath his attempt to conceal it, hurt lanced through his voice. But could she really blame him? She knew Killian would have gladly listened at any point along the way, would have been glad to be there for her, but she'd been too lost in her own pain to recognize she was hurting him.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, tightening her fingers around his. "I…I thought if I didn't tell you, if I didn't give it a voice, maybe they would go away."

"They'll never go away completely." He brought their joined hands to his lips, kissing her fingers. "But I have found that they come less frequently when I speak of them with you."

"He knew I was FBI. Gold, I mean."

"I know. I…sorted it out watching the surveillance footage. He called you by your name." Killian swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. "I damn near lost my bloody mind when I realized he knew your true identity. I've never been so terrified in all my life."

Emma tightened her fingers around his, not sure if she was comforting herself or Killian. "He knew...he found out because of that night I tried to...when you followed me. That guy apparently talked in his cell, and word got back that a cop saved me. Once Gold found out the cop was you, he got suspicious and had me followed. And I was stupid enough to walk right back into his hands, with Graham at my side." Emma traced an idle pattern over the back of Killian's hand, her pale skin shining against the dark hair sprinkled across his. It was a relief to finally tell him the truth, but she wasn't entirely free of the suffocating guilt she'd lived with for weeks. "If I hadn't been so stupid and gone off on my own that night, Graham might still be alive."

"You can't do that to yourself," Killian replied instantly, fiercely. "You and I both know there are too many what-ifs, and torturing yourself with them won't bring Graham back."

"I know."

He nodded, falling silent as he watched her continue to draw invisible patterns on his skin while the rain once again drummed against the windows. "Why did you wait so long to tell me?" he asked eventually, more curious than anything.

Emma shrugged, not entirely sure she had an answer. "I don't know. I just…you worry enough about me, and I didn't want to add to it with all this."

"I would prefer you not keep things bottled up. Let me be there for you, Swan. I don't have all the answers, but maybe we can find them together, yeah?"

"Yeah." Emma sighed, pushing herself up and shifting her weight until she was curled up in Killian's lap, his arms snug around her and his heartbeat in her ear.

-x-

"Is that why you wanted me to accompany you today?" Killian asked with a lift of his eyebrow as they exited the doctor's office, the tips of his ears pink from Emma's rather pointed questions. "Did you think I wouldn't believe you if you simply came home and told me you'd been given the all clear?"

"Maybe." Emma laughed at his incredulous expression, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. "But you heard him. I'm fine. Let's go home." She waggled her eyebrows at him suggestively, unable to adopt a serious expression while he sat there blushing like he hadn't been thinking the same exact thing – like there hadn't been several mornings lately where they nearly hadn't stopped, where Killian's leash on his desires had nearly been snapped by how desperate they were becoming for each other.

He sighed, rubbing his palm over his face before scratching behind his ear. "Did you forget we were having lunch with Ruby?" he finally asked, desire pitching his voice lower than usual.

"Yes. Shit." Emma bit her lip, groaning. "Am I a terrible person if I cancel?"

"We're supposed to be there in twenty minutes, love. It would be rather poor form." His smile curved into a lusty invitation, eyes darkening. "But rest assured, I'll have my wicked way with you once we're home."

"Promise?"

"Aye." He took her hand, kissing her knuckles as he often did, but his tongue darted out, licking one of her fingertips before scraping his teeth against her skin in imitation of what was to come. "I also promise I'll spend all of lunch thinking of little else."

Emma shivered as Killian let her hand go. She nearly missed the way he shifted his weight, turning away to hide her satisfaction – he could say all he wanted about good form but he wanted to blow off lunch as badly as she did. That somehow made it easier to accept they were going. It _would_ be crappy of her to ditch Ruby, who had stopped by constantly to keep her company when Killian was at work, who had kept her from losing her damn mind, just so she could have sex with Killian an hour or two sooner.

But they had barely finished ordering before he started touching her, their bodies already pressed snugly together in the small booth with Ruby opposite. Emma struggled to follow the conversation as Killian's hand rested on her thigh, his fingers creeping higher and higher as the meal went on. Her pulse pounding in her ears, Emma couldn't decide if she wanted him to stop or to keep going, Ruby and the rest of the restaurant be damned.

But when he got within an inch of where she wanted him, he dragged his fingers down the inside of her thigh to her knee and started the torturous journey all over again.

"Are you all right, Emma?" Ruby asked with a lifted brow and poor attempt at hiding her smile. It was only then that Emma realized how hard she'd started to clench her teeth to keep from making a noise, a flush creeping over her cheeks. "If your _leg_ is bothering you and you want to go home, I get it." Ruby's tone said it had nothing to do with Emma's leg and everything to do with Killian and his suddenly red ears, but thankfully, the teasing glimmer in her eyes was the only hint she gave about what was going on beneath the table.

"I'm okay," Emma managed to say, reaching for her water with a fair amount of guilt. Her throat was suddenly dry, and her hand shook slightly as she curled her fingers around the cool glass. "Just tired," she added, hoping Ruby wouldn't notice the tremble in her hand. She could keep it together long enough to have lunch with her best friend after everything they'd been through in the last few months.

Killian squeezed her thigh, removing his hand with a look of apology, and Emma wanted to scream. She wasn't sure what was worse – Killian touching her while she couldn't do anything about it, or Killian not touching her at all.

The rest of the meal dragged, and Emma could barely concentrate. She was hyperaware of Killian next to her – the rough fabric of his jeans scraping against her bare thigh, the heat of him ratcheting up her temperature, the scent of his cologne mixed with his shampoo, the weight of his arm around her shoulders – all of it slowly and gradually drove her insane as Ruby caught her up on the office gossip.

It was a relief when they finally got back in the car. "Home. Now," Emma demanded in a low tone, her hands clenched at her sides. "I'm going to get you back for that."

"I was counting on it, darling." He flashed her a grin before leaning over to cup her cheek and kiss her, his tongue plunging into her mouth as he held her in place. His breathing was shallow when he finally pulled away, and Emma shoved her hands under her thighs to keep from reaching for him again. The sooner he drove them home, the sooner she could have him.

She wasn't the only eager one. Killian had her up against the door as soon as they walked in, one hand palming her breast, the other anchoring on the curve of her waist as he kissed her, hips pinning her in place. He was careful not to press against her ribs, gentleness tempering his touch, but his kisses were filled with need and desire. "Bloody hell I've missed this," he mumbled as he trailed kisses down her throat, his stubble scraping against the sensitive skin.

Emma laughed, but the noise was quickly swallowed up by a low moan as Killian's hand slipped beneath her shirt, his thumb rubbing her nipple through the thin lace of her bra. "You heard the doctor. Most people don't manage to…" She gasped as he flicked his tongue against the spot above her collarbone that sent heat pooling instantly between her legs. "...to wait this long," she managed to say, barely finishing her sentence before Killian's mouth was on hers again.

His hands dropped to the backs of her thighs, lifting her against the door. The motion broke the kiss as Killian positioned her, rolling his hips into hers, the rigidness of his arousal pressing through her thin shorts. Emma arched her back, desperate and impatient for more. "I told you, love, I believe in good form." Another roll of his hips, only this time, he didn't bite back his own groan. "What sort of man would I be to take my pleasures with you injured?"

"You say it like I didn't want you to." Emma's breaths came in short pants, one hand on his shoulder for leverage. She plunged the other into his hair, clutching the silky strands as he lowered his mouth to her breasts, using his teeth to drag her shirt out of the way.

"Aye, and all the more difficult it was for it." He worked his way slowly along the neckline of her shirt, his kisses almost lazy as he tortured her. "Especially once you decided to cease wearing clothes to bed. All that deliciously soft skin, and nothing but–"

"Killian, I love you, but if you don't shut up and take me to bed right…" Emma sucked in a breath, realizing what she'd just said as he froze, pulling back abruptly. "I'm sorry, I mean, I…" She gulped, her legs shaky as they found the floor again. "Killian?"

"Did you…did you mean that?" His voice was something she'd never heard before, sandpaper on his tongue and velvet on his lips.

"Yes?"

His smile was tentative, but his eyes burned with desire and love. "Say it again," he demanded, voice rough and eyes bright.

"I…" Emma glanced down at his hands, fingers tight on her hips. Solid. Real – just like her feelings for Killian. Not giving voice to those feelings didn't change that they were real, that he was in her blood. If anything, her silence was only hurting him, reminding him every single time he told her he loved her that she couldn't – _wouldn't_ – say the words back.

"I love you." Dragging her eyes back to his, her heart ached for the man laid bare before her. "I should have told you earlier. I wanted to tell you earlier. I was just so afraid. And then the night you said it…"

"I knew." He lifted one hand, his thumb rubbing lightly over her bottom lip as he cupped her jaw. "I swear to you, I'm not going anywhere," he said roughly, the words thick.

"That's just it." She sighed, leaning her head against Killian's shoulder as he gathered her close, her hands fisted in his shirt. "I've never…I can see a future with you, Killian. And that's terrifying to someone who…who can't seem to hold on to the people she loves. The minute I say it…said it…that future…"

"Trust me, Emma. The future is nothing to be afraid of." His fingers found their way into her hair, stroking through the tangled locks as he held her. Emma focused on the sensation, his callused fingers dragging against her scalp, the rustle of his clothes as he moved his arm. Gradually, she loosened her grip on his shirt, turning to press her ear to his chest, his heartbeat steady.

Sliding her palms up, Emma leaned into him, looping her arm around his neck as she stretched to kiss him. It was a kiss of apologies, soft and gentle, but it morphed as her other arm came up, and she clung to him as the kiss deepened.

"No standing, doctor's orders," was the only warning she got before Killian lifted her, chuckling at her squeak of protest.

"I can walk," she said with a huff, but there was no real annoyance behind it. He hummed his agreement, but didn't put her down until they were in her bedroom.

"You must tell me if anything hurts, love," he cautioned as he stood beside the bed, carefully working free the straps on her boot. "I can't stomach the thought of hurting you."

"You won't." She sighed with relief as he slid her foot free, rolling her ankle to stretch the sore muscles. "Now get over here." She threw a saucy smirk his way, bending her knee and letting her uninjured leg fall open in invitation.

"Eager, m'lady?" He knelt over her, balancing his weight in his forearms as he leaned down, just out of reach, teasing laughter dancing in his eyes. "No need to rush, darling. We have all afternoon. And evening."

"You're not going to make it to this evening if you don't get over here and kiss me," Emma threatened, reaching up to twist her fingers into his hair and tug. He laughed again, a dark promise vibrating through the noise as he finally, finally closed the distance between them.

Despite her threats, Emma wasn't in a hurry. The heaviness of her accidental emotional confession hadn't entirely left her, though it wasn't an unpleasant sensation. It settled over her like Killian's weight, comforting and welcome as they kissed.

But before long, the fierce desire that had torn through her earlier in the day reignited. Eager for his skin on hers, she tugged at his shirt, tossing it to the side and leaning up to help him remove hers. They still slept skin-to-skin most nights, save for the flimsy separation of underwear, but there was something different about it as they pressed together again – something about the promise of more that pushed the sensation from comforting to erotic as the coarse hair on his chest rubbed against her nipples.

Killian groaned as she rocked her hips into his, pushing back once, twice, before tearing himself away. She shivered as he moved lower, his lips tracing a path down her throat and over her collarbones. Kneeling between her legs, he kept a firm grip on her hips, keeping her pinned to the bed as he began to work his mouth along the cup of her bra, pushing the fabric aside with his tongue.

Emma swore when he bit down lightly on her nipple, his stubble scratching her delicate skin as he pushed the fabric out of his way, sucking and nipping wherever he pleased. Her pulse throbbed between her legs, an urgent tattoo that had her arching into his touch, straining against the hold on her hips, craving friction. "Killian, _please…_ "

He hummed as he took her other nipple in his mouth, a purr of satisfaction that vibrated through her flesh. Her fingers curled around his biceps, nails digging in as he lavished attention on her breasts until he finally released his grip to unhook her bra.

"Beautiful," he said, full of quiet reverence and lust as he settled back on his knees, his gaze devouring her as he stroked her thighs. "So, so beautiful."

Emma didn't wait for him to come back to her, sitting up and wrapping her arms around him. He helped shift her weight until she was straddling him, her knees on either side of his hips, his erection nestled between her thighs. Killian's breath caught as she rolled her hips, and she did it again just to hear him groan her name, ignoring the burn in her ankle – it would keep long enough for her to enjoy being wrapped up in Killian once more just a little longer.

Holding her upright with his palm flat against the small of her back, Killian began working at the clasp of her shorts, not bothering to fully tug down the zipper before plunging his hand beneath the fabric.

"Did you spend all of lunch thinking about this too, darling?" he asked in a low, breathless voice as he dragged a finger through the evidence of her desire. Emma ground herself against the heel of his palm in answer, clutching his shoulders for leverage.

"Yes," she gasped as he teased her, light strokes too soft to do anything but wind her tighter without a promise of release.

"Did you want me to touch you like this…" Emma's back arched as he slipped two fingers inside of her, curling them as he went. "Did you want me to do this to you right there?"

She swore at the erotic image, pushing against Killian's hand. Pleasure tightened at the base of her spine, right where Killian's other hand rested, keeping her in place, but after so many weeks, she wanted more. Pushing up onto her knees, she shook her head, nudging his hand aside as she unfastened his jeans. "I want you inside me when I come tonight," she breathed against his ear, tugging the lobe between her teeth and delighting in his shiver. "No offense to your talented hands, but I've missed _this_ ," she said, wrapping her fingers around his length and squeezing gently.

Killian swore, quickly ridding himself of the rest of his clothes before helping remove hers. "Do we need anything?" he asked, licking his lips with anticipation as she came closer, desire darkening his eyes as they flicked toward her nightstand.

"No, we're good. No one…nothing like that happened. I got tested anyway, but…" Emma shook her head, shoving the memories away. The last thing she wanted to think about was that basement or Gold with Killian naked before her.

"I'm sorry, love, I…"

"Don't apologize, okay? Just get over here." Emma reached for him, trailing a hand over his bare hip and watching goosebumps rise in her wake. "I don't want to…it's just me and you here."

"Aye." He caught her hand in his, squeezing lightly before his lips curved into a grin full of sensual promise and mischief. "How would you like me, darling?" His voice caught as she reached out and took him back in hand, her thumb finding all of the deliciously sensitive spots as he knelt on the bed.

Emma lifted herself onto his lap where she'd been only moments before. "Just like this," she said as she tightened her grip on his shoulders, beginning to sink down. After so long without, the motion brought with it the slightest burn as her body remembered his and adjusted. Killian buried his face in her breasts, licking and sucking with one hand fisted in her hair as she took him deeper.

His hands moved to help her lift and fall as she began a slow rhythm, thrusting up every time her hips met his, but Killian caught her wince, stilling her movements. "Ankle?" he mumbled against her skin, muscles already shifting beneath her as Emma's groan turned to one of frustration.

"It's okay, I've wanted this for weeks."

He chuckled, low and dark, stubble scraping over her heated skin. "Trust me, love, I can give you what you desire – without you doing yourself further damage." Still, his nudge was gentle enough she could have resisted, but Emma let him lower her back to the mattress, tugging his mouth to hers to cover the momentary disappointment.

Killian's fingers danced over her skin, skimming along in one moment, applying delicious pressure the next. It wasn't long before they were right back where they started, Emma's breaths short as she clung to him above her.

"Incredible," he murmured against her skin before their lips met in a clumsy kiss, little finesse left as their focus fell to where they were joined. "So bloody incredible."

"God, I missed this." Her thighs beginning to tremble, Emma rose up again and again, meeting Killian's thrusts as her world narrowed down to the delicious drag of him inside her, and the pressure building at the base of her spine. Her head fell back in a silent scream when he shifted the angle, creating friction exactly where she needed it to go tumbling off the edge. He pushed her through it, biting off a curse before plunging back in once, twice, and finding his own release.

"I love you, Emma Swan," he whispered between gasps, stretching along her body to steal a kiss, his lips salty with the faint sheen of sweat covering them both. Killian rolled to her side, bodies still pressed snugly together and legs entwined as their kisses lingered, sleepy and sated.

"I love you, too." She smiled, stroking her fingers through his hair and leaning in to capture another kiss, her limbs heavy and content. "I think I need a nap before we do that again." He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she snuggled closer. "You'll be here when I wake up?" she asked with a yawn, pressing her lips to his collarbones.

"Always."


	18. Epilogue

Killian leaned back against the door to Emma's apartment, slumping with relief. It had been a long shift, made longer by a tedious interrogation with a proper idiot of a criminal. On top of that, he had been foolish enough to drive himself to the district rather than take the T because he'd woken up late.

Well, more precisely, he had woken early, but then Emma had made him quite _thoroughly_ late.

A pleasant way to begin his day, but nonetheless, he had paid for indulging his own pleasures rather than submitting to the demands of the day. It had taken over an hour to cover a meager mile of his journey home. Perhaps they should begin arresting drivers without the sense to wait for the intersections to clear before causing bloody gridlock.

 _Bloody construction. Bloody traffic. Bloody Boston._

At least the Navy had had that going for them. No traffic on a ship miles from anyone or anything. Though the Navy didn't have Emma Swan, and after the day he'd had, she was truly the only thing he wanted.

Shoving off the door, Killian followed the sound of running water to the bathroom, a tired smile curling his lips as he rubbed at the sore muscles along the back of his neck. Aye, the only other desire he had in that moment was a shower, but if the universe saw fit to give him both Emma and the shower at once, well, he had no complaints.

"Killain?" Her voice rose above the rush of the water, filled with amusement. "You couldn't wait your turn?"

"Afraid not, love." He chuckled at her attempt to sound annoyed, making quick work of his clothes and letting himself into the shower. The water was blessedly hot as he wrapped his arms around Emma's slippery form, the spray pounding against his shoulders and back.

She stretched onto her toes, pressing a sweet, soft kiss to his mouth. Killian hummed with contentment, the novelty of Emma's easy affection not yet worn off – he sincerely doubted it ever would. He bent his head to her shoulder once she pulled away, groaning as she dragged her nails through his hair. "You're home late. Bad day?" she murmured sympathetically, turning to press her lips against his damp skin.

"Bloody awful." He straightened after another moment luxuriating in Emma's touch, leaning back to soak his hair. "But it's over and I have you." He grinned, tugging her closer, until they were wet skin to wet skin. "In fact, I seem to have you just the way I like you."

"In a tiny shower?" she teased, dropping a line of kisses along his collarbones.

"This tiny shower has its benefits." His palm slid over her back, down, down, down until he palmed the curve of her bottom. "On numerous occasions, it has yielded a naked Emma Swan."

"I guess when you put it that way…" She laughed at his low growl, but gave herself over to the kiss he claimed. It had been a long road to this place, this Emma, but as the kiss deepened and Killian forgot his exhaustion, he knew why he had never questioned his resolve.

Emma was worth it. Emma would _always_ be worth it.

She dropped back down onto her heels with a shiver, eyes dark despite the bright bathroom light. "I'm going to get out so you can actually get clean. Did you eat?"

"Sod dinner." He nuzzled back into her neck, not relinquishing his hold. "Sod getting clean, too."

Emma's laugh was pure happiness as she wriggled out of his arms. "Patience is a virtue."

He snorted, but he reached for his shampoo, reluctantly abandoning his effort to seduce her then and there. "Says the most impatient woman I know."

"I'm patient!" Her protest was followed by a shrug when he raised a brow at her. "I mean, sometimes."

"Aye, _sometimes_."

She laughed again, popping up on her toes to kiss him quickly before slipping out of the shower. Killian closed his eyes, leaning back into the spray and listening to her movements, the rustle of the towel and the slap of her feet against the tile.

It had been months since she'd freed herself from Gold, months of frustration and nightmares, physical therapy and endless doctors. They had come out the other side of it, and having survived the worst, Killian had high hopes for their future – but Emma hadn't had a personality transplant, and he wasn't in a rush. He had his happy ending – he had Emma.

He didn't linger under the spray, hurrying through the rest of his usual routine. Refreshed, his desires reignited by Emma's body up against his, he went in search of the minx, only the towel slung low around his hips. She had demanded he eat, not that he dress.

Wearing one of his faded Navy T-shirts and nothing else, Emma stood in front of the stove, carefully placing strips of bacon in a pan. A carton of eggs sat at her elbow, next to a pile of what he supposed were omelette ingredients. "You do know it's nine in the evening?" he teased, standing behind her and looping his arms low around her hips. The heat of her bare legs seeped through the towel, the scent of her freshly-applied lotion strong as he molded himself to her.

"Breakfast food cooks fast." Emma shrugged, leaning back into his arms. She stretched her neck back, desire still thick in her deep green gaze. "I thought you might have other ideas about what we should do tonight," she said with a lift of her brow, a teasing smirk curling her lips as she pressed her hips back into his. "But if you want me to spend more time cooking…"

Killian groaned, splaying one hand flat across her stomach to keep her in place as he buried his face in her hair. He'd been halfway there in the shower, but the sight of her in nothing but his shirt and the promise in her dark stare had him aching. He trailed his unoccupied hand down her thigh, drinking in her increasingly shallow breaths as he dragged his fingers up under the shirt. When he encountered nothing but bare skin, he gripped her hip, sucking in a sharp breath. "You're killing me, darling," he rasped, the hand on her stomach beginning to move.

Emma twisted out of his grasp with a quick kiss on his cheek. "It will be a good death," she assured him, her tone playful despite the flush in her cheeks and the way her tongue lingered on her bottom lip.

Killian growled softly at her, nipping at the exposed skin of her shoulder, but he stepped back as she moved to stir the bacon, readjusting his towel. "How was your day?" he asked, moving to the sink and filling a glass of water, temporarily resigning himself to patience. Once he took Emma to bed, he had no intention of relinquishing her for the remainder of the evening, and they _did_ need to eat. "Any sign of Regina fully reinstating you?"

"I actually wanted to talk to you about that." Emma glanced back over her shoulder, suddenly nervous – the slight frown tugging at her mouth and the furrowed brow were a dead giveaway. "I've, uh, well, I've been cleared to go back to field work."

"That's wonderful," Killian replied automatically, swallowing his unease. He wasn't ready to be separated from Emma for months at a time, unable to even check in – hell, he wasn't sure he would _ever_ be ready, but he'd fallen in love with Emma eyes wide open. She was a fine agent, and he had no business asking her to make changes to suit him, even if the thought of her so secluded sent icy slivers of fear down his spine. "Has Regina informed you what you'll be working on next?"

"No, not yet." She hesitated, intensely absorbed in flipping the bacon. As he watched, she shifted her weight restlessly, back and forth, back and forth. "I...there's more," she finally added, so quietly the pop and hiss of the pan nearly drowned her out.

"More?"

Emma nodded, letting out a heavy breath. "I decided...the thing is, I loved deep cover. I loved being able to disappear into someone else. I've always been good at it, but I think it was partially because...well, I never had a life of my own, not really. I mean, sort of. But not really. And now…"

She stopped, but Killian waited patiently, his heart hammering against his ribs. He didn't dare hope Emma was saying what he thought she might be saying.

"I told Regina I don't want to do any more deep cover assignments. Not for a while. Maybe not ever again." Emma turned around fully, twisting her fingers together as she brought her eyes to his. "So...yeah. Just going to work local cases."

"Are you certain, love? Surely you know I support whatever decision you make." Killian kept a tight hold on his relief, not wanting to influence her decision. Oh, he was bloody well happy to hear it, but Emma needed to make the choice for herself.

"Yeah." She nodded, glancing back at the stove and giving the pan a hard shake, the grease sputtering and hissing. The stove was sure to be spattered by the time she was done, but such was life with Emma in the kitchen. "I'm sure. You're not disappointed?"

"Disappointed?" Killian shook his head emphatically, crossing the kitchen in two quick steps and folding her back into his arms. "Love, I am _not_ disappointed in the least. I would never ask you to make this choice for anyone but yourself, but if this is your decision, I am bloody well happy to hear it." He nuzzled his nose against her neck to accentuate his point, crossing his arms over her ribs.

"I just...I've lost my taste for it." She shrugged, as though she felt she had to justify herself.

"You don't have to explain, unless you'd like to," he said quietly before straightening. "I understand, Emma. I told Dave some time ago I was done with the long-term assignments myself. I don't want to be away from you for that long." He brushed his lips against her hair, still damp from the shower and sweet with the scent of her shampoo.

"You did?"

"Aye." Killian leaned down, pressing another kiss to her temple. His stomach rumbled at the smell of the nearly finished bacon, and he gestured to the eggs still on the counter. He knew Emma, and while the topic was hardly at an end, her drawn brows and stiff shoulders told enough of the tale for one evening. "I can do the rest if you like."

"I got it." Emma rolled her eyes, though her lips twitched with a smile as she relaxed. "I can handle omelettes. Are you planning on putting on pants?"

"Not at all." Killian gestured to the towel, waggling his eyebrows. "Wouldn't want to make things difficult for you, especially after you so thoughtfully made things rather easy for me." His fingers danced up her thigh once more, caressing her hip before sinking lower in a teasing touch that was quickly withdrawn with a grin.

Emma barely managed to hold her frown, waving her spatula at him. "Listen, I didn't spend the last ten minutes slaving over this stove for you not to eat your dinner."

"Yes, dear." He sat down on a chair at the small kitchen table, grinning up at her and taking a sip of his water. "Is that how you're going to talk to our kids one day?"

Killian froze, the words gentle and teasing, but they had never spoken of children or really any of the future he dreamed of. He hadn't felt the need to, not yet – he thought they were on the same page. Well, in the same book, anyway. Emma might have been a few chapters behind, but she'd get there.

Except now he'd stuck his foot in it, and the seconds turned to hours as Killian swallowed hard, his hand moving to scratch behind his ear without his permission. Emma's eyes followed the movement, and smart lass that she was, she had to have been able to read his thoughts plain as day all over his face.

And it took her a moment, her brow furrowed and her lips slightly parted in surprise, but to his immense relief, she rolled her eyes and _smiled_ – a true smile, not the rubbish fake one he hated so much.

"Of course," she finally said, brandishing the spatula once more. "With the hours we work, those kids will be lucky if either of us ever have dinner on the table. If we can manage that, they can eat it."

Killian chuckled as Emma turned back to the stove, carefully pouring the omelette ingredients into a pan after quickly whipping them together in a bowl. "Don't forget the..." he began in a teasing tone, fighting with the instinct to gather her close and kiss her senseless as too many emotions to separate barreled into him. He knew what it meant that she was joking with him about their future as lightly as she was – just as he knew that when it came to big steps, making a production over it would back her into a corner, even now. There would be time for emotional declarations, quiet moments where he could hold her close and whisper about everything he desired for their life together.

"I _know_." Emma wrinkled her nose over her shoulder. "I put mushrooms in yours. I know you like the nasty things. Just don't think I'm going to kiss you."

"Lies."

"We'll see about that."

She kissed him anyway.

Killian drew her into his lap once she'd finished eating, the towel precariously draped over his hips and near to falling off. Emma snatched the piece of bacon left on his plate, happily munching away while he shook his head. She leaned into him after licking her fingers clean, her cheek on his shoulder, and sighed with what he hoped was contentment, her still-damp curls tumbling over his bare skin.

"Everything all right, love?"

"Mmm." She traced an idle pattern over his chest, her touch featherlight. "When is your lease up?"

"My lease?" Killian struggled not to tense or otherwise react at her question. Emma was far too calm, languid as a housecat in his lap, to be asking what he wanted her to be asking, but she'd already surprised him once. "I should think it's coming up. Month after next?"

"We should probably go get your stuff soon, then. Maybe next weekend? You have Saturday and Sunday off, right?" There was no change in the softness of her voice, no pause in the slow drag of her fingertip across his bare skin.

He forced himself to breathe slowly, though with Emma's cheek to his chest, she was sure to be able to hear his racing heart. "Is that...are you...you want me to move in?"

The puzzled look on her face almost made him laugh when she sat up and directed her quizzical brow at him. "You already live here," she finally said, her brow furrowing. Every muscle that had just molded to him tensed, her words strained. "I mean, I thought you lived here. If you don't want to, I get it. I guess I just assumed…"

Killian kissed her before she could say another word, a needy, frantic thing as he ran his hands up under the shirt she wore, guiding her until she was straddling him, her arms looped around his neck. With only the towel separating them, it was tempting to have her right then and there, but tonight of all nights, he would take his time. He wasn't certain he'd ever truly rid Emma of her insecurities, but he'd bloody well try.

"Of course I want to, but I didn't wish to assume. You never actually _asked_ me, love," he whispered once they broke apart to breathe, foreheads pressed together.

"I didn't think I had to." Emma huffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she sat up fully. The motion rolled her hips forward, and Killian couldn't help a soft groan. If she weren't looking at him quite so seriously, he would bury his face between her breasts and spend a good long while there.

"You haven't stayed at that apartment for a single night in the last month, and before that, it's only been a handful of times since...since I was in the hospital. Your clothes are all here. Your coffee mugs with their ridiculous little cartoons are all OCD organized in the kitchen, a kitchen which actually has food in it these days, because you bother to grocery shop regularly. David and Robin have been here to play poker. Belle has brought her family for Sunday dinners that _you_ made. I just assumed when your lease was up we'd decide what to do about the furniture."

"I asked you once what I was to you," he began, shushing her with a finger against her lips when she started to protest, her fingers curling into his shoulders. "It was a long time ago, love. I know what I am to you now. I know you've made a place for me in your life. But as you seem to need reminding, to me, you are everything. You are the woman I see a future with. I want it _all_. Not at once, not right now, but one day, Emma, one day I want _everything_ with you. My mailing address doesn't matter. _You_ are my home."

"I love you," she said softly, raising her hand to rest her palm on his jaw. It was a testament to how far they'd come, the effortless admission and her intense stare to go with it. "Just because some of those _one day_ things sort of freak me out still doesn't mean I don't want them with you. You know that, right?"

Killian turned his head, pressing a kiss to the inside of her palm before lacing their fingers together. "I know." He held her gaze for another beat, letting emotion burn between them before he allowed a bit of mischief into his sly smile. "But there's no rush, darling. Especially not when right now, I can do this…" He slipped his hands back under her shirt, delighting in the surprised squeak that escaped her as he tugged her hips closer, grinding up from the chair while he held her in place. "And this," he murmured low against her ear before taking the sensitive lobe between his teeth, the catch in her breath only spurring him on. "And…"

"This?" she cut in, breathless as she lifted her hips enough to yank the towel off his lap before settling back down, his arousal nestled between her thighs. He caught her sly grin before his eyes slammed shut, Emma's sudden touch shooting sparks through him as she reached between them, taking him firmly in hand. But she wasn't in a hurry, her touch languid as he groaned with pleasure.

"Aye, that," he managed to breathe out, glancing down to watch her hand move over him between her parted legs. She shifted on his lap, the slick heat of her arousal meeting his thigh, and Killian's patience evaporated.

Emma's protest as he stood without warning melted into a quiet laugh, low and throaty against his ear. "Aren't you always on my case about not leaving dishes in the sink when I go to bed?" she teased, her tongue flicking out to trace the shell of his ear.

"Sod the dishes," he all but growled as he walked into her – _their_ – bedroom, the towel left behind in the kitchen to be dealt with in the morning. With one fluid movement, he set her on her feet beside the bed and rid her of her shirt. Even without turning on the lamp, he could see her nipples had already grown taut, her pale skin bare and inviting.

"Killian?"

"You are stunning, Emma Swan," he said softly. "If I didn't want you so badly, I might be content to simply gaze upon you all evening."

"Don't you dare." She closed the distance between them, her kiss hungry as she rose onto her toes and threaded her fingers into his hair. The kiss was pure Emma – her grip on his hair tight, keeping him where she wanted, but her body soft against his, her lips parting easily to accept him.

He pulled away, his breaths already short as he palmed her curves, tugging her hips into his and dragging his teeth ever so lightly over the place her shoulder and throat met. "Get in bed, darling."

Emma shivered in his arms at the low command, and while he half-expected her to laugh or challenge him, she merely lifted a brow in question before doing as he'd asked. He followed, kneeling between her legs and gently nudging her thighs apart as he bent to kiss a path from her collarbones down, down, down…

She gasped as his breath washed over her, hips straining against his grip, moisture glistening between her legs, and Killian spared a moment to consider if there were few sights more appetizing than Emma spread out beneath him, wanting. His name left her lips, half-plea, half-curse, and he chuckled quietly before descending on her.

He'd never tire of listening to her in those moments, the way she'd tense when he found the right spot, her thighs tightening against his shoulders, and her moans would become quieter, as though she didn't possess enough oxygen to maintain her usual volume. He wound her tighter and tighter, pushing to the brink and falling back, the air returning to her lungs in a gasp and then she'd curse, a low, vicious thing full of desperate need.

That was when he'd give her what she desired, that extra little bit sending her over the edge in a gasping, quivering pile of limp limbs. And then she whispered his name, tugging him into her arms and kissing him as he slid into her with a low oath of his own.

His forehead resting on hers, Killian held himself still, buried deep and every muscle straining against his desire to stay in the moment just a few seconds longer. It would be _their_ bed he made love to her in from here on out, _their_ home, with _their_ future, and perhaps she was right – perhaps she hadn't had to ask, but it felt different now that she had.

Emma didn't question him, her touch soft on his back, on his jaw, on his shoulder, her thighs cradling his, and when he took a shaky breath and began to move, she rose to meet him. Running his palm down her thigh, Killian tugged her leg up, changing the angle and driving deeper as Emma's nails clenched in his shoulder.

He wasn't entirely surprised at her nudge that sent him onto his back, Emma rising above him like a goddess of myth and legend. Her hair tumbled down around her shoulders in a chaotic halo, and she impatiently tossed it over her shoulder as she sank back down with a groan.

Killian forced himself to watch her face for any sign of discomfort – it had been a while since they had attempted such a position, and Emma had grown frustrated quickly the last time with her still-healing ankle – but the only thing he saw in the soft light peeking between the blinds was pleasure.

His breaths ragged, he sat up, taking advantage of her position above him to lavish attention on her breasts, nipping and sucking as she moved. Pure male satisfaction purred in his veins as her rhythm faltered every few beats, her grip on his shoulders tightening as she moved unsteadily above him.

It was plain neither of them wanted it to end, shifting positions by unspoken agreement, slowing down and speeding up until they were both panting. Only then did they give into it, the tantalizing temptation of the finish line and the explosion of pure pleasure it promised.

And when Emma crawled into his sweaty arms, her cheek on his shoulder, one arm and one leg flung lazily across his body, Killian knew true and utter contentment. "I love you," he whispered against her hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead and tightening his arm around her back. "More and more every day."

"Does it ever run out?" she mumbled sleepily into his chest, tracing an idle pattern. "The love and the wanting? Because I can't see the bottom."

"You never will if I have anything to say about it, love."


End file.
